


A Marriage of State

by Nikoshinigami



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Abuse, Action, Drama, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 81,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikoshinigami/pseuds/Nikoshinigami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Yuuri is gone, Gwendal makes a difficult decision. Can a loveless marriage between strangers really be the answer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Gwendal welcomed the new wrinkle on his brow, the deeper draw of his frown lines, the longer stretch of age across his face. Such sins against blood should have their mementos left in the flesh. While he would have preferred the sting of steel to the stain of ink, not all battles could be fought by strength and perseverance alone. Wars of diplomacy had scars and casualties the same as on any other battlefield. With his quill, by his hand, he'd consented to peaceful demands not uncommon but solid like rocks in his gut. And end to certain naval conflicts. A human alliance. Valuable territories from which to set up camps for handling the Big Cimarron threat. One less ally for King Lanzhil. A bloodless treaty agreed to by ink and paid for with so small a sacrifice it would have been selfish not to sign. In the name of Yuuri's peaceful vision where communication and mutual understanding made conflict a thing for council and not armies. Naive. Hopeful and inspiring and ignorant to politics, blind to compromise. Gwendal rubbed his brow, eyes closed to block out the passage of time. Yuuri would not agree and yet he neither could he refuse. A treaty nearly everyone would benefit from and no one would like. It was best the child king was on Earth for such proceedings. He would await justice upon his return.

Were the document still on his desk, Gwendal might have ripped it to shreds and pieced it back together many times over with the ebb and flow of guilt and duty. If he rose up from his chair, perhaps he could have seen the messenger leave with it, told their own guard to bring him back immediately, ask the man to forget anything he ever knew about the bargain. Teeth ground hard and jaw locked, he continued to sit with the sound of horses' hooves against the beaten soil echoing through the courtyard walls through his open window. There was more work to be done, more things to attend to in the Maou's absence. He reached his hand, steady only with the effort he put into its movement, and slid another piece of parchment to the space before him. Work would make him forget in moments of activity. He could leave regrets for sundown.

The large oak door creaked open to admit a man with closed fists and set jaw. The scar running through his brow tilted with the worry of his face, conflicted as it was resigned. He closed the door behind him, walking soundlessly to the desk, standing perfectly still.

Gwendal would not meet his face. "Do you wish to strike me, Conrart?"

"I don't know what I want to do. There had to have been another way, brother. A few more months-"

"-a few more months and a handful of sunk ships could have lead to an all out war or the fear of Big Cimarron may have ended all chances of entering into a peaceful arrangement. Shin Makoku gains much more than we lose."

"But _Wolfram_..."

"Is the only eligible member of the royal household! Do you think I did not try every alternative available?!" Gwendal stood, hands slammed heavy on the desk, sweaty palms sticking to the parchment. His glare was weak, fueled only by anger at himself and the situation. It wasn't enough to stand against Conrad's sad brown eyes. He fell back in his chair with a heavy thump, face in his hands.

The silence was louder than chariots on cobble stone.

Conrad stepped away from the desk, wandering to the window where there was not a cloud in the sky. The Kotsuhizoku flew past without a warning of omens. People were working below, life unaltered. "I request assignment to the task of escorting Wolfram there."

"Under the circumstances I can think of none better."

"You don't worry I may kidnap him?"

The eldest brother sighed. "If the Lion of Lütenburg is willing to risk entire armadas for one boy's sake then I will take his judgment to be sound and fair." Conrad's knuckles creaked as his fingers curled deeper into his fists. Gwendal likened it to the pain around his own heart. "And will you stay for the wedding?"

"Someone should."

Gwendal nodded thoughtfully, quill in hand to make official his charge.

"Then at least we will have both been given the task of giving him away," the half-mazoku said with bitterness.

Gwnedal's quill tip snapped, ink spilling out like blood from a wound on the final stroke of his youngest brother's name. Outside there was birdsong and happy cries of greeting. The world went on unencumbered.


	2. Chapter 2

The sea was wide, an unmarked territory accepting everyone into her deep blue arms which rolled, slapped and embraced the ships that tore through wave and crest on wind filled sails. Shin Makoku's flag flew below a white pendant on the tip of every mast, both waving proudly on a breeze that hurried them along. They were making excellent time. They would be in Trebic maybe even half a day earlier than expected. Conrad was not pleased, even as he rubbed his little brother's shoulders with him half slung over the starboard railings with shuddering wretches, hands white knuckled against the salt kissed wood. To grant Wolfram one reprieve would only hasted a different sort of suffering. He'd rather he gasp around chunks of bread and fish than step foot on that foreign soil.

Wolfram rested his forehead against the rails. He was done for now but not done for good. His pale complexion was tinged green with sickness and he breathed through his mouth in steady, slow breaths. Conrad moved his hand from shoulders to head, pressing bangs away from forehead and eyes. Wolfram looked up at him, stern of face, and pushed up to standing, still not strong enough to let go of the flat rail.

"You don't have to stand over me, you know."

"I know." But he would do so anyway.

Wolfram scowled slightly. "I agreed to this so I don't need you just standing there looking miserable like it's _you_ who's been promised."

"I would take your place if I could."

"Yuuri would cry."

"Yuuri _will_ cry." Conrad placed an arm around his brother's small but heavily weighted shoulders. Wolfram remained stiff and agitated but sank softly against him when his presence did not falter. The older said nothing for a long time, entertaining the idea of Yuuri splashing down right before them, ready to make hasty demands that would annul Gwendal's orders and turn them back towards Shin Makoku's shores. Whether he truely wanted a male fiance or not, Wolfram leaving them for such a reason would surly be more intolerable. The return of the Maou could mean borrowed time for further negotiations, time to keep the cease fire in place while other gestures of good intent and symbols of alliance traded possession. Every splash of marine life caught Conrad's hopeful eyes but delved deep below the waves without the flail and scream of their fifteen year old king.

As much as he loved her and would not dare deny her, Conrad felt a twinge of regret for their mother's flirtatious mannerisms which had charmed her into enemy hearts on more than one occasion. It wasn't her alone that had set a precedent for romance to mingle with politics. Beds were like boarders, shared with many and not always by those you most enjoyed the company of. He was grateful there was very little of that during his times of battle, race wars leaving much to be desired in the way of political marriage outside those of noble families within. Yuuri's vision for a world that treated human and mazoku as equals opened doors once locked shut and barricaded. Not that Yuuri knew or anyone foresaw. The great ex-demon queen with all her beauty and style was too old to marry the Trebic King's son with none but Gwendal, Conrad or Wolfram left to the line still somewhat in power. Greta, thank Shinou, was too young.

Conrad looked down at his brother's chest where a red flower pendant made of yarn stood pined to his left breast against the green of his travel clothes. A parting gift from Greta soaked now in the spray of salt water where before it was washed in tears.

"Will you write often?"

Wolfram scowled. "Of course I'll write. What else am I going to do with my time? Not as if they're going to let me keep my sword."

"You could paint," Conrad offered.

"Yes. That's what I'll do. I'll fill so many canvases that Yuuri will have to buy a second castle just to store them all."

The older brother chuckled softly. "No one would mind that."

"They had better not. And I expect every single one of them to be hanging when I visit. Every - Last - One."

Conrad nodded, envisioning hallways filed with abstract art, bold colors replacing his bold presence. Wolfram pushed away, walking to the benches set along the cabin walls, sitting down with his neck stretched, head back with eyes to the sun. The older joined him, sitting slowly, still unsure if his true mission was to throw him in a row boat to escape or see him safely to Trebic. The men on the ship seemed to feel the same, often turning a blind eye to them both, leaving the upper decks sparsely manned with hardly a soul to stop him.

Wolfram closed his eyes, complexion still green as the ship rolled onward. "Don't let Yuuri take it out on Aniue," he said, voice deeper and husky with seriousness.

Conrad let his head bow. "I'll stay close by his majesty's side to make sure he does not cause offense."

"Good. Knowing that wimp he'll say the first thing he thinks of without any consideration. If I'm not there to keep him in line, he'll just become a weak king whom everyone indulges. Don't let him get too far ahead of himself but don't.... Well, just make sure he remembers who he's speaking to."

"Don't worry. I'll protect Yuuri and Gwendal."

"Sir! Vessel to port!"

The two men looked over at a gathering of crew stomping their way up from below deck to the port side railings. Conrad stood, leaving the weaker, and walked to the growing mass as men ran up stairs and climbed upon masts, running to aft and bow. On the horizon he could see a ship, coming on nearly dead ahead though the vessel seemed to ease further and further to port as though intending to sail wide past. The captain with his spyglass stood beside Conrad, offering up his farseeing eye to the knight with scarred, calloused hands. Conrad took it, pressing the smaller end to his eye as he looked atop the distant masts as they grew closer from the sea.

"Trebic," the Captain said without question. "You and the prince better take to below. Diplomatic missions don't mean all that much to merchants and traders who get jumpy arounf mazoku."

Conrad kept the lens pointed at the ship, squinting against the leagues. "Not many merchants and traders sail in full naval uniform." He handed the spyglass back to the captain. "We'll come up along side them. Make sure the white flag is visible and order your men to keep their hands away from their swords and pistols."

"Yes, Sir Weller. You think it's some kind of envoy?"

The knight nodded. "Something like that." He returned to his brother's side, the curious mazoku no longer sitting on a bench but standing, hand steadied against the wooden walls. "Let's go below, Wolfram."

"What is it?"

"Your Bridegroom's royal navy."

Wolfram leaned to look around him at the approaching ship. Conrad placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him to lead, persuading him with pressure to move to the stairwell that lead below deck. Wolfram complied, swaying on unsteady feet as he took the stairs with handrail gripped tight. He walked to his room, falling on his bed in stomach rolling agony as Conrad took to one of the chests set before the bed and took out Wolfram's dress uniform with embroidered black cuffs against his usual blue. He set the slacks and jacket along the foot of the bed, looking at pressed white shirts for the best laced collar.

"What are you doing, Conrad?"

Conrad remained silent for a moment, voice lost somewhere in the folds of white cotton as he pieced together something appropriate for his youngest brother to wear. Not so long ago, these would have been the clothes with which he'd have dressed the naked corpse in its mist filled coffin. The heavy feeling was the same as it had been then. Presumptuous and impatient as the Trebicians were being, a good first impression was important.

He held out hands and pulled Wolfram to sit, seasickness giving him the strength of an inebriated man. He took from him his yarn flower and laid it with his fresh uniform. He undressed him from his travel clothes of moss green and clay brown, gentle and slow to still his unease. Wolfram offered no help and no resistance, a puppet to his deeds as he buttoned his clean shirt and put each foot through the legs of his trousers. He helped him to stand and pulled him together so the younger could keep his eyes forward. He closed the belt and jacket around him, pined the yarn flower over his heart and swept his hair into order while Wolfram chewed mint leaves to freshen his breath. It was almost a ridiculous level of help the younger seemed to require but Conrad would not make him do it himself any more than Wolfram felt the need to refuse.

"How do I look?" Wolfram asked, long dark lashes and large green eyes even more striking against the pale of his discomfort.

Conrad kissed his head. "Like a prince."

The thunk of heavy towropes against the deck echoed loudly, several times repeated distant and near. Conrad looked at the ceiling, pulling Wolfram closer out of instinct at the cue of their arrival. Wolfram leaned his head against his shoulder for a moment then placed both palms against his chest and pushed himself away.

"You're going to make wrinkles."

"Yes, of course."

"And I'm going to be sick if I stay down here much longer."

"I know."

Wolfram walked to the door, hand out to steady himself as required. He looked over his shoulder at his brother. "Are you coming?"

Conrad smiled sadly. "Yes," he said, and walked close behind him.

On the deck were strangers in uniform waiting alongside a set of planks set across the two vessels. The Shin Makoku Captain looked anxious as armed "enemy" soldiers stood at attention on his ship, nervous sailors keeping their hands close to their own armaments, waiting for an excuse to use them. Wolfram stood straighter and walked with pride and purpose to the middle of the cleared path, seemingly dropping all sickness aside for a moment's regal poise.

Coming across the planks in garments of scarlet and gold, a tall ginger man of a strong build smiled with a long, wide mouth that seemed a deep chasm between full mustache and beard. He had no neck so much as hair and broad shoulders that were a match for Yozak's in build. His chuckle was a deep, pleased sound that rumbled as much as it spoke. "So their stories were not as exaggerated as I had feared. My dear, you truly are beautiful." Both feet fell heavy like anchors to the deck of the mazoku ship and he bowed, hand waiting in the air for Wolfram's touch which was hesitant and uncertain. The ginger man pulled his knuckles to his lip, scratching a kiss against them. "I am Alfgeir Havard; your betrothed. You may call me Alfie."

"Alfie.. my-"

There was a loud crack as Alfgeir's open palm fell hard against Wolfram's left cheek. The mazoku reeled, thrown by the force but pulled close and saved from stumbling to his knees by the human's grip on his hand. Conrad's muscles tensed and knotted as he breathed in heated breaths. Wolfram's face was red where it would soon turn purple, eyes wide and watered by surprise and pain.

Alfgeir roared with laughter. He loosened his grip and let Wolfram step back, patting him on the shoulders like one would a man choking. "That's more like it, isn't that right, my dear? I must say, you mazoku are very interesting people! What a tradition!" He laughed and his men chuckled in chorus.

Conrad felt blood in his mouth as his teeth pierced through the flesh of his cheeks, watched Wolfram spit blood on the deck from a lip split. First impressions were very important and Conrad hated Alfgeir Havard.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfgeir Havard was a loud man with the face of a thief in the dress of nobility. His wiry beard of coarse orange hairs was spotted with crumbs from their meal and specks of wine, the splatter of relish on his left lapel with a spot of grease on the cuff of his sleeve. Like a trained beast he seemed well versed in manners but too large to execute social graces with any amount of delicacy. His roar of a laugh was full of joy and amusement, not forced or subdued by his surroundings; a great belly laugh that could overpower any conversation. He was a thick, boisterous individual who could command attention through volume alone and sitting at his table of meats and bread Conrad could hardly keep himself from cringing with every happy howl.

Wolfram sat to the right of his betrothed, left cheek swollen in amethyst. He glared at him as he tore into his food though Alfgeir seemed to find his indignant rage endearing.

"Come now, my pet, I didn't mean any harm," the Trebician prince said, hand on the mazoku's shoulder.

Wolfram shook him off. "Do I get to use that excuse too?"

The large man belly laughed and smacked Wolfram across the shoulders, causing him to lurch forward. "I like your spark," he said, and went back to his glass of red wine. Wolfram glared at him, hands fisted on the table top, spark ready to explode.

Conrad wished his brother would look at him, catch his eye and share a quick thought. Wolfram seemed intentionally avoiding as much, stabbing at his food instead or burrowing holes in the table with his stare. The only words Conrad had left to say were _It will be alright_ but sitting in the company of his soon to be brother-in-law, Conrad wasn't so sure it was a fair statement.

"Your Majesty is very kind to invite us for dinner," the soldier inclined, feeling pressed towards diplomacy. "However, if you keep touching my brother with such force, one of us is likely to do something very rash." Conrad smiled his perfect smile, dulling the edges of threat with good cheer.

Alfgeir chuckled, wine glass heavily brought back to the table top with a splash. "I must seem like quite the brute! I do apologize. I have big hands, you see, and feet bigger still. I guess it's true I really don't know my own strength!"

Several Trebician sailors cheered and laughed as though it were a joke or common complaint turned anecdote. Conrad took a deep breath, finger stretched along the body of his knife. "I suggest you learn your limits in that case, Your Majesty. Our king will not honor any alliance if he finds you've broken him."

"Now, then, Brother, don't worry about that! I'll take very good care of him." Alfgeir smiled and tipped the bottle of wine to fill Conrad's cup. "He'll want for nothing be it finery or affection. You have my word as a gentleman and the heir to the Trebic throne. I will honor the letter and intent of the alliance and only ask that you do the same. Have faith in me as I do in you."

Conrad bit his cheeks and swirled his wine. He was not ready yet to be such a man's brother even if his words were encouraging. "Of course. We will all do our best."

"Splendid! Tomorrow morning we sail for Trebic. My men will help load Wolfram's things onto my vessel if you will lead them to his quarters. I will give to you the treaty with our royal seal to take back with you as proof of his acceptance."

Wolfram's eyes widened as though waking from near sleep. " _Your_ ship. Why would I sail the rest of the way on your ship?"

"Did you not receive the message?" Alfgeir looked between the brothers, neither of them looking less surprised than the other. "No ship from Shin Makoku will be allowed to dock in our marina at this time. We can't guarantee it would be safe after so many months of armed conflict. Even if we called out the royal guard, there would be no way to ensure no rouge canon would fire and harm your ship or someone on it. For the safety of everyone and to lessen the stress on our civilians, no ships from Shin Makoku may dock."

"You can't just alter the plans like that!" Wolfram shouted.

"Our alliance is not popular with our people at this time. If we make sudden changes, there could be an uprising. The intent of the treaty was to lessen casualties and that is what we are trying to do."

Conrad eyed the ginger man for signs of dishonesty: a twitch to the eye, a pull of the lip, the darting of his line of sight to avoid question. He displayed none. "If the treaty is so unpopular, how do you intend to keep my brother safe?"

Alfgeir smiled at Conrad, hand slapping down on the table, place settings jumping. "That is _exactly_ what I am trying to do by bringing him in on my own ship. There I have my personal guard, hand picked and all of them in loyal service for no less than a decade. I trust them with my life and by extension with his. Once we're in the castle things will be much safer and after the wedding the fears of occupation should die down as they see nothing has changed."

Conrad nodded, chest aching. "I had planned on following him to Trebic and attend the ceremony as representative of his family. Would there be a way to arrange my passage home if I came with you?"

"Well, that wouldn't be the problem. Enough ships have crossed paths accidentally in these waters, having a meeting like this again wouldn't be hard at all. But there's no date set for the wedding. Could be you'd be there weeks or months before the atmosphere was right for a ceremony," Alfgeir explained. It was the first time Conrad had seen him frown. "I'd like for you to be there too, Brother, but these matters of state are decided by smarter men than me. I can't even promise I could tell you the date with enough time given for you to return here from Shin Makoku if you waited there instead."

Conrad shook his head and opened his mouth to respond only to nearly be pushed from his chair to the floor instead by the volume of Alfgeir's command, "No, no, this won't do at all! Bring me the captain! If this man wants to see his brother married then let's not waste time! Tonight we wed!" Conrad's mouth fell agape as sailor's cheered and the prince took his hands in his. "Brother, I can understand your worries of leaving him in my care with only my word as a gentleman he would be untouched till our wedding night. I hope this sets your heart at ease."

Conrad managed to meet Wolfram's seething stare over the shoulder of his betrothed. The young prince stood, pushing his chair back far with a loud squeal of wood on wood. "I am not getting married on at sea. If it takes months then it takes months and you _will_ wait for Conrad and anyone else for that matter when the day comes!"

"But pet, it's perfect. Just think of it: married on international waters as a symbol of all nations and no boarders. Don't worry, you'll have an extravagant state wedding as well but for our brother's peace of mind, let us not wait. I'm sure you've had your fill of length engagements."

Wolfram picked up an apple and threw it at his head, the piece of fruit making nothing more than a dull thunk before falling to the floor off the large man's head.

Alfgeir roared with laughter. "Feisty, isn't he?" he cried out, sailors joining him in an uproar at the impotent apple chuck. Wolfram's fists balled at his sides, body shaking with the effort it took to not launch into an attack. Alfgeir took him by the arm and pulled him close as Wolfram stumbled against his chest. "You look lovely as you are but I will give you one hour to prepare as I ready our deck for the ceremony. I am an honest man of good intentions and I want our brother to bare witness and report to the others that you are bound by marriage to be cared for."

Conrad watched both panic and fear cross his brother's face half hidden in Alfgeir's scarlet breast. "Your Majesty, it's not necessary-"

"One hour, Brother. Then I hope you will sleep easy knowing I have made honest men of us all." He let Wolfram go, guiding him over to Conrad's side of the table. Conrad tried to take his wrist but had calloused hand smacked away as Wolfram stormed past him out of the room.

"Like a bandage," Alfgeir said.

Conrad looked at him as the man winked and roared his way into the ranks of the sailors calling for lanterns, carpets and the captain's ready command. He waited only a minute to follow his younger brother, crossing back onto the Shin Makoku ship where the nervous air had still not passed. Eyes darted in the direction to which Wolfram had flown, down to the belly of the ship in his stately quarters. Conrad was slow to follow, making his steps hard enough to be heard. He knocked and admitted himself, not surprised to see his brother's face in a bucket with the echo of dinner sloshing to the bottom. He sat close by, not daring to touch him further as it seemed to him unfavorable.

"I'm sorry."

"You... idiot..." A gulp and a wretch.

"It was planned to happen sooner or later. Does tonight make so much of a difference from tomorrow or the day after that you would hold this wish against me?"

"Now Yuuri can't--" Sentence interrupted by what had been grapes and cheeses. Can't object. Can't call it off. Can't arrive in time to take him back. Conrad heard even what was never spoken.

Frowning, hands clasped between his knees, he bowed his head in resignation. "You'll be safer this way. No one would dare touch the prince's husband."

"I'm not so weak as to need this kind of protection."

"Gwendal and Mother will still be glad to hear it none the less."

Wolfram's arms hugged his grey bucket. Face hidden in its hollow, it was hard to tell sobs from the croak of breath around bile.

Under moon and starlight, washed in the warm glow of hanging lanterns, standing before the Captain and the power bestowed upon him, Prince Alfgeir Havard kissed his bride to the amusement and cheer of the Trebic sailors who tossed feathers in the air--a hastened replacement for confetti. With every flinch of trepidation and glimpse of the bright purple stain on Wolfram's left cheek, Conrad felt his resolve and acceptance crumble till only the solider part of his mind could bare to witness further. His own king wished for his subjects and retainers to forgive and trust in everyone who showed the best of intentions. Hard as he tried, Conrad felt only cold and numb towards his brother-in-law whose ease of manner kept him on edge. Alfgeir lifted Wolfram from the decking, cradling him in his arms with a knowing roar from the crowd and snickers of approval. An awkward conversation never had, expectations and concerns. Conrad watched the ginger man in scarlet carry his brother below deck for only so long as his stomach would let him. For the first time after many years at sea, Conrad felt sick.


	4. Chapter 4

Yuuri rose up from the waters of the temple fountain and breathed in with a contented sigh; he was home again. Thoroughly soaked with a lily pad draped over one shoulder, he turned his head, scanning the central yard for familiar faces of which he could see none. In the wings a handful of priestesses gigged and smiled towards them, heads bowing in respect as they continued on. The sight of their king as a dripping fountain decoration was too common to arouse any special attention. Yuuri sighed again, this time in longing. It would have been very nice to have been surrounded by the lovely priestesses in the absence of his retainers. He pulled himself from the shallow pool, careful of making too much more of a mess by slipping on the mossy cobblestones on the bottom. He took a seat at the fountain's edge, taking off whatever modesty would allow to wring dry. He poured the water out of his nearly ruined shoes as Murata sat patiently beside him.

"Ah, Murata, I envy you getting to stay here with all these pretty girls," Yuuri remarked, shaking water from his bangs with his fingers. "Most of the people I spend my time around are attractive looking men."

Murata shrugged with a cat's plotting grin. "I guess there are some perks to babysitting Shinou," he said, waving to Ulrike as the tiny woman approached, slow with grace. An entourage with towels and a change of clothes walked behind her, offering each their appropriate stack of black school uniforms and fluffy cotton cloth.

Yuuri thanked them. "Are the others on their way?"

Ulrike bowed her head slightly with hesitation. "Ah... you're highness, I'm afraid the Original King was slow to announce your imminent arrival. A messenger had been sent but it may still take some time."

"Well, it can't be helped." Yuuri smiled and stood as Murata wiped the droplets of water from his glasses.

They changed into their dry clothes and waited for the thunder of hooves up the hill, Murata keeping his friend company though he seemed eager to retire to his normal temple haunts. Above the sky was cloudless and sunny and on the air the smell of wood burning stoves from the peddler streets and homes made Yuuri hold his deep breath before loudly exhaling with satisfaction. There was a slight chill all around, catching on the damp of his hair with a feint shiver despite the sun having fallen only a few degrees below midday. There was something of change in the air.

"Feels like winter is on it's way. Ah, and the trees are still so green! I wonder how the seasons change here."

Murata shook his head with amusement. "Same as back home, Shibuya. Not everything is so different."

"I want to see my kingdom in every season." Yuuri leaned against a stone column, looking out over the town and countryside where chimneys breathed smoke and trees birthed tens of hundreds of birds at every scare. If he looked hard, he could make out the occasional orange branch among the forest's blanket of green leaves. He enjoyed the autumn but more for the anticipation of fun than the simple pleasantness of its beauty. Winter brought back good memories of being a boy, memories of Shori and his parents, cocoa and marshmallows, presents, everyone around the kotatsu after hours of limb chilling fun in the snow. "I can't wait for it to be winter," he said. "There will be so much to do and Greta will look so cute in a winter coat and hat and we can take her sledding and make snowmen. Winter is the best time to be a father."

"You've never had winter in a cold, drafty castle before." Murata warned, his own memories much more pertinent that those of America and Japan. "Besides, there's no baseball in winter, Shibuya."

"All the more reason to spend a lot of time here." Yuuri crossed his arms behind his head, crossing his legs at the ankles. "After this past season, I'm looking forward to a break."

Murata smiled, adjusting his glasses. "Still sore about Sawada missing that catch?"

"No," he lied with an indignant pout. "He did his best. We all did. Next season we'll see if we can find someone who plays a good shortstop and just maybe move him to right field or something." He'd really wanted to win a shot at the championship.

A wave of birds took to the air as a rumble of horse steps drew nearer. Yuuri smiled, guessing at which retainers would be sent to retrieve him. Conrad would be there without fail, probably Wolfram too unless the aggressive prince had missed the messenger's announcement. Gunter--sweet Gunter--would hopefully have been too busy to come and spare him the awkwardness of having two men fight for his immediate attention. It was embarrassing enough at home in the castle where Murata wasn't likely to see. He imagined as soon as he left, the priestesses which had mostly taken to hiding while he stood there would come back out and fawn over their Great Sage with all the sweetness and affection a guy could hope for. And who did Murata spend all this time with? The only other man genuinely allowed in the temple in the first place. Life wasn't fair sometimes and though Murata would never rub it in, his Cheshire grin made it obvious that he was pleased with his life's arrangement. With a head that full of memory, though, it was probably a small consolation.

There were only two horses that winded up the path towards them: the one on which Conrad road and Ao being lead behind him. Yuuri felt instantly encouraged by the sight. It would be a quiet homecoming after all. He waved his arms in the air, smile running from ear to ear. "Conrad!"

"Shibuya."

Yuuri turned his head, looking over his shoulder at his friend. "What is it?"

The glare on his glasses obscured Murata's eyes completely, making his expression unreadable. "Look," he said.

Yuuri quirked his head in confusion, turning his attention back to his approaching retainer where he saw--as had been intended--the slightly sullen smile the soldier wore that paled in comparison to Conrad's usual sunny grin. He waited until the man was close, running up to his horse almost before he'd given him time to dismount.

"Your Highness, I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

"It's Yuuri, Conrad," Yuuri corrected automatically. He frowned in worry. "Is something wrong?"

Conrad's face faltered further.

They left the temple at not much more than a trot, horses side by side on the path that lead to Blood Pledge Castle through the busy streets of Shin Makoku. There was no hurry, not in their travel or in Conrad's readiness to speak. It filled Yuuri with cold dread. Waiting was hard. He fiddled with the strap of his reins, metal clinking idly as he fidgeted uncomfortably. The leather felt soft with polish and slightly oily in his hands. Ao was an excellent horse, especially for one as inexperienced as him. He gave his neck and mane a brief stroke, careful not to accidentally make a move that would send his horse dashing down the path ahead. He looked for changing leaves around them, anything to keep his mind from inventing miseries. Every time he heard Conrad's breathing change he sat up straighter, waiting expectantly for him to speak. Conrad coughed into his fist and continue riding. After the third time Yuuri's patience was at it's limit.

"Are you sick?"

Conrad smiled softly at the concern. "Allergies, Your Highness. I'll be fine."

Yuuri was thankful for that but unsatisfied. "Is everyone else okay? What about Greta?"

"Greta has a touch of the sniffles. Probably something is in the air," The soldier explained.

"I guess it's a good thing I'm back, then. I'm not sure how much I'd trust Wolfram's bedside manner."

Conrad flinched, face a mask of seriousness that Yuuri had learned to fear. It was the Bearer-of-Bad-News expression, the worn out frown that would rather express happy tidings than necessary issues. It was Gwendal's face, kill-joy and resigned. It was worn better by the serious man; Yuuri had become too accustomed to the soldier's smile. Conrad kept his eyes forward, voice deep. "Wolfram's not there, Yuuri," he said simply. His words seemed to imply something more than simple absence.

Yuuri's heart felt like it had stopped mid beat, hollow of blood and yet fit to burst. "Conrad?... Is.. Wolfram..?"

He shook his head, though his expression remained grim. "No. He's not dead."

Yuuri's heart fell back in pace, bringing color back to the sudden pale of his cheeks. He breathed a long sigh of relief, leaning heavily against the Ao's neck. "Ah, you scared me! Don't look so serious when you say things like that. Is it Waltrana again?"

"Wolfram is married and living with his husband in Trebic."

The king looked at his retainer, sure he'd misheard. Conrad would not meet his eye. "How long have I been gone?"

"Six weeks, four days." Conrad's simple answer was a little more precise than Yuuri had expected.

The king shook his head, confused thoughts too jumbled together to make any sense of what he was hearing. "Wait, Trebic... those are the guys with the angry navy in the south, right? The ones Gwendal was trying to settle with?"

"Did settle," he corrected. "We have had peaceful waters for the past two weeks."

"Really? That's fantastic! So.. did Wolfram fall in love with some kind of diplomat?" He imagined a beautiful man the likes of Sara coming to call on Blood Pledge Castle, regal and refined. Someone like Wolfram would definitely marry someone beautiful and rich and a diplomat would know just how to handle his jealous rage and bossy attitude. Maybe him living so far away was hard on the middle brother. Maybe it was a human he'd married. Yuuri thought Conrad of all people would feel differently, though. "Still, to get married so soon... and all this time he's called _me_ the cheater."

"Had he a choice, Yuuri, I'm sure he would have remained faithful to you forever." Conrad's bitterness was painful to hear. "As it stands, his loyalty to your ideals is all he may keep."

Yuuri had had enough. He pulled his horse to stop, Ao obeying with a toss of his head. "Conrad, what are you talking about? I don't understand."

The older man stopped as well, looking older by the second as he gazed at his king with eyes muddied by inaction. The smell of lit hearths and baked goods were even more evident in the air as they stood only a minute outside the busy streets. The castle itself loomed over them in the sky, silent save for the occasional rattling of bones on the rooftops. The reins felt harsh against his palms as Yuuri squeeze them hard in fists against his thighs. His eyes would not leave Conrad's no matter how painful the look in them became.

"Wolfram was married into the Trebic royal family as part of the peace treaty. He is there as a symbolic gesture and to obligate our alliance with blood."

Yuuri waited for the punchline or some sign that such an archaic thing was all just a practical joke. Seeing none he jerked on the reins and dashed up towards the castle. He could hear Conrad call for him, hear his horse gallop behind to catch up or overtake. Yuuri needed to see Gwendal. Something had to be done. Sensing his riders determination, Ao ran as fast as his legs would allow, tearing down the main street like a true demon's steed. It could be undone, Yuuri told himself as he held on tight. Somehow he could make it alright.


	5. Chapter 5

Gwendal stood over the map laid out on the table, smoothing out the folds with his hands as he trailed his fingers across the blue pattern of open waters. Dotted lines traced the boundaries between international waters and those belonging to the shoreline countries. He pressed a line of figurines across the map, placing three white ships near a further five red just inside Trebician waters. Outside the dotted line five black ships stood in opposition, miles off any shore but obviously hailing from the large blob of burnt-orange the map proclaimed "Big Cimarron" in bolded caps.

"Three?" the other man in the room asked. His skin was fair with a rust colored beard trimmed to the chin and a mustache so bushy it obscured his lips completely. He pointed with a thin rod to the black ships. "Five is an estimate; there could be far greater numbers and they've a shorter distance to travel than your fleet. You really think three is enough to keep them from simply bringing back more?"

"It has to be. It's what can be spared from our own armada. You've plenty of armed merchant ships to fall in should anything happen."

The visitor nodded, spidery brows knitting together in contemplation. "It's still a more formidable show of force at any rate. When can we expect them to arrive?"

"They will return with your own ship, Sir Veleif, so long as our terms are agreed to."

"Food and beverage for _three_ fully manned vessels," Sir Veleif repeated from their earlier conversation. "Lord Voltaire, it is quite a burden."

Gwendal put his hands on two of the three white ships and began to pull them back from the other reds. "We could always send fewer."

Sir Veleif's mustache bounced over his lip with an agitated breath as he grumbled to himself, eyes fixed on the map.

The door to the war room was thrown open without a knock, leaving very little question in Gwendal's mind as to who had finally arrived. He turned his attention to his guest. "I'm afraid we'll have to reconvene tomorrow."

"Gwendal!" the king shouted, marching to the table, not caring in the slightest who else was around.

Gwendal felt a headache coming on. Sir Veleif, however, seemed delighted.

"You must be him!" he exclaimed, walking over to Yuuri with his hand outstretched. "Sir Bersi Veleif of Trebic, Your Majesty. It is an honor to finally get to meet you!"

Yuuri took his hand and shook it hard. "You're probably just the man I want to see." He pointed a finger at Gwendal, scowling. "Whatever that man did, we're undoing it. Right now."

"Wha-...Your Majesty?"

Gwendal cleared his throat, shaking his head minutely. "This is not the time for this."

"I'm not leaving this room until you tell me that we're getting Wolfram back!"

Sir Veleif looked between the two mazoku with a confused look on his face. "What is the meaning of this, Lord Voltaire? We were told the marriage was legal and recognized by Shin Makoku."

"It is."

"It is not!" Yuuri grabbed Sir Veleif by the arm, dragging him away from Gwendal and the map. "Look, I don't care how things are done around here but in my country, we don't force people to get married for stuff like this. We're allies because we're friends, right? So it doesn't matter who marries who because we're going to help each other out regardless. So just let us have Wolfram back and there's no hard feelings."

Gwendal came to stand behind Yuuri, looking down at his king with tired eyes. "His Majesty is ill informed on these matters. We'll discus this further in private."

"We'll discuss it now!"

The tactician met his king's angry, unwavering stare. Yuuri's black eyes were sharp and daring, cold fire like ancient obsidian. Gwendal closed his eyes and walked away, opening his desk drawer and throwing to the table pages of parchment. One page he kept in his hands. "These are all the letters of inquiry we've received this week. Each and every one of them is a confidential request for information regarding Shin Makoku's plans and how their territories may be involved. Some of these are from ruling families within Big Cimarron."

Yuuri walked over to them, picking them up, not bothering to pretend he could read them. "What does this have to do with Wolfram?"

"Tales of your kindness and ideals spread slowly but even those not interested in politics pay attention to wedding news. A royal union between a human and a mazoku that is acknowledged by both Trebic and Shin Makoku has gotten wide spread attention. Things are changing and more and more people are coming to accept that these race wars have gone on too long." Gwendal held out the remaining piece of paper to Sir Veleif. "Take it. It's Wolfram's formal dismissal of his engagement to the king should you have any doubts that this marriage has been in good faith."

Sir Veleif shook his head. "That is unnecessary. I will take your word for it."

Yuuri took it instead, looking long and hard at the page before handing it back. Gwendal eased the marks from the parchment and placed it carefully back in his desk drawer.

"I get what you're saying, Gwendal, but this doesn't have to be the way! We can still change people's minds without--"

"You can't undo what has been done. Whatever sacrifices Wolfram has made have been made whether or not you summon him back now." Gwendal towered over his king, trying to look a giant when he felt small as a mouse. "All you can do at this point is cause confusion and uncertainty in those who have become curious as to our goals."

Yuuri shook his head, mouth moving but nothing coming out. The floorboards creaked. Gwendal looked up to see Conrad enter, hands out to clasp around Yuuri's shoulders. Yuuri fell back against him. "This can't be happening."

"It's already happened." Gwendal turned back to his map, pressing his two white ships back to the line of six. He collected the papers from the table, tapping them into a neat stack to be placed back in the drawer where they belonged.

Sir Veleif cleared his throat. "I'll have an answer for you in the morning, Lord Voltaire," he said, inclining his head in respect before turning to Yuuri with a proper bow. "Your Majesty. Will I be seeing you at dinner tonight?"

"Yes, he'll be there," Conrad answered. He smiled slightly. "I hear you have news from Wolfram?"

"Ah, of course! I had almost forgotten." Sir Veleif opened up his breast pocket and pulled out a letter stamped with the royal seal. He held it out to Yuuri. "I was asked to give this to you."

Yuuri took the letter, looking at it intensely and its scarlet emblem of a dolphin before a sickle and gear. With a final bow the visiting dignitary left the room.

"I..I can't read," the king said.

Conrad took the letter from him and snapped the seal, unfolding the paper to read it aloud to him. Rather than words, Conrad's mouth formed around a laugh. Both Yuuri and Gwendal turned curious stares to him, which Conrad met with a smile.

"Dear Brother," he read, "Tell the wimp to learn to read already. Love, Wolfram."

Despite himself, Gwendal chuckled. It was a relief to hear Wolfram sounding playful.

"That's all he wrote?" Yuuri asked, looking around at the page which certainly looked longer than that.

Conrad could not wipe the smile from his face as he started to read again. "Dear Yuuri, Welcome back. Greta missed you so make sure you do something special with her. I asked Nicola and Hube to take care of her when I left but I don't know how long they were able to stay. Tell her I love her and I miss her. We're in chapter eight of that book you got her. You chose terrible books. The princess was locked in a tower and she had to have the dragon help her escape through a portal that could tell if she was lying. I think I know how it ends but you'd better write back when you're done with it and tell me so I know if I'm right or not. It's the least you could do. You never-" Conrad stopped, pursing his lips together while his eyes scanned the page. They waited for him to continue, Yuuri growing concerned as Conrad's smile finally slipped away. "You never understood my love for you, but I know you care. You care about everyone equally and that's what I hate and love about you. I've tried to do my best in living up to your ideals of how the world should be. Everything revolves around my love for you and for Shin Makoku. Since you couldn't be bothered to come rescue me when you had the chance, don't bother doing anything stupid now. We both have to just accept that you're stuck being a wimp of a king and I'm stuck here in Trebic. I made this choice and I'm living with it. Alfgeir's not so bad once he finally shuts up and even at your wimpiest Conrad and the others still seem to put up with you. Just be a good king, Yuuri. The rest of us will do our best too. Write back or else. Wolfram."

Yuuri fell into a chair, worn out from stress. "This doesn't feel real... who's Alfgeir?"

"His husband," Gwendal answered, rubbing at his face.

" _Alfgeir_?" Yuuri's expression turned sour.

Conrad nodded, folding the paper again. "There is time to explain everything. For now, I'm sure Greta will be very excited to have her father back. Shall we go find her?"

Yuuri sighed and rose from the seat, looking back at Gwendal with more sympathy than before but still a hint of anger. "Whatever that man is here to discuss, I want to be a part of it. This is still my kingdom."

Gwendal inclined his head. "I will brief you tomorrow before we meet with Sir Veleif again."

Yuuri made an affirmative sound and walked out of the room, posture slouched with hands deep in his pockets. Conrad held the letter out to his brother before following. "There's more. Addressed to you."

Gwendal froze for a moment, slowly taking hold of the document with its royal seal, turning it over several times before sitting down and slowly peeling the folds apart.

Conrad smiled gently and hurried after his king.


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner was an awkward occasion served with chicken, vegetables, and assorted cakes for dessert. Those in attendance ranged from close family to friends to visiting dignitaries and while everyone remained pleasant and well mannered, the underlying static in the air made for little conversation. Yuuri pushed pees around on his plate with his spork, not sure how to think or feel. Beside him, Greta' seemed to display nothing but joy at having her father back, happiness overshadowing previous complaints of loneliness and fear. Conrad's spirits seemed lifted since the reading of Wolfram's letter while Gwendal's unreadable frown was just as firmly set. One could hardly tell anything was amiss from Cecilie's flirtatious advances towards Sir Bersi Veleif who found her amusing and drank wine like he had a separate stomach just for alcohol still to fill. It was as if life just carried on after someone important had left and while Yuuri knew that that was exactly how things went, it felt wrong. Maybe it was because he'd only know for hours where as everyone at the table had known for several weeks. The news still stung, more so knowing that he was too late by far to take back what had been done. He'd been playing baseball, attending classes, spending time with his family while Wolfram was saying vows to a total stranger and living a brand new life in a far away kingdom away from his family and friends. From what Yuuri understood from Gwendal's explanation in the war room, ordering Wolfram to return was not the hard part, it was the potential message it would send to everyone who was, as a result of the marriage, showing an interest in siding with them in a global conflict: they didn't keep their promises, they weren't really looking for peaceful cohabitation with humans, their king was fickle and untrustworthy. Yuuri didn't care so much what people thought of him but how it reflected on his country was a grave concern to him. He liked that people were beginning to come around to his ideals. He liked that it had been brought about by interest and not intimidation or fear. He hated the price they paid and wondered with pees stuck to the utensil's prongs if he could live with himself even if it did achieve world peace knowing at what cost.

"You look as though you're in a trance, Your Majesty."

Yuuri blinked and looked at Sir Veleif, putting his spork down. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Please, don't apologize. I'm sure it has been a stressful homecoming." Sir Veleif smiled and downed his seventh glass of wine, cheeks rosier than the hair on his head. "I'm sorry to hear you're unhappy with the arrangements we've made in your absence. Having seen your ex-fiance, I can see why you would dislike having lost him. He's won over most of Trebic with that face of his."

Though Yuuri missed much more than his pretty face, it was hard to fault the stranger for picking that particular trait as the one he'd miss. Wolfram's beauty had been the first thing Yuuri had noticed about his friend, the reason he'd made the mistake of slapping him when what he'd really deserved was a punch in the nose. Yuuri sighed and abandoned his plate. He couldn't eat with his conscience weighing so heavily against his stomach.

"Was he well received?" Conrad asked, plate clean with a cake in hand.

"Relatively. We were a little worried when they came off the ship but most people seemed too busy staring to bother throwing food or rocks at the carriage. I can't say much as to what he's been doing in his time but things have been generally quiet. Seems we underestimated the public's reaction to a mixed race marriage. Plans for the official state ceremony are already underway. I take it we can put you all down for attendance?"

"Oh, I love weddings," Cecilie cooed. "And Wolfram looks darling in white. We both do. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Sir Veleif chuckled, giving Cecilie's hand a pat. "Splendid. I'm sure Alfgeir would be delighted to meet his mother-in-law. Especially one who looks young enough to be his little sister."

Cecilie practically purred at the attention.

Greta dropped her spork loudly to her plate. "Wolfram belongs here with Yuuri and Greta! It's not right!" She pushed her chair back and ran from the room, leaving the door open behind her.

"These things can be hard for children to understand," Sir Veleif said.

Yuuri felt very much like a child, then. He stood up slowly, napkin covering his plate. "I should look after her. Please excuse us." He inclined his head to his guest and walked after his daughter. He could hear her crying, footsteps and sobs echoing down the halls. His walk became a run as he chased after her, finding her at last in his bedroom, face down in the bed like a forgotten ragdoll. He sat down beside her, petting her wavy hair, offering her comfort when he could offer her little else.  
She sat up and threw herself over his lap, arms wrapped around his middle.

"You'll bring Wolfram back, won't you?"

Yuuri winced. He rubbed her back in soothing circles, not sure of anything at that moment. "I'm going to see what I can do. I'm meeting with Gwendal tomorrow."

"But you're the king!"

"Yeah. I'm the king." Yuuri leaned back, looking out the window at the star filled sky as he stroked her hair. "I think Waltrana and the others were right. Wolfram would have made a good king. He cares more about Shin Makoku than he does his own life. I don't know... if I could do it." Or rather, he knew he couldn't. He'd been tested on his priorities before and while he had no problem dying for Shin Makoku, he could not abandon the life he lived for another. When given a choice between his homes, he'd chosen to remain forever on Earth. Even knowing that he'd be with friends was not enough to sway his heart to relinquish his family and familiar surroundings. Wolfram had done it and then some. Yuuri couldn't help but almost feel somehow inadequate, like Wolfram was spurning him on to do a better job, to be present more in their world, to take more of an initiative in politics, act instead of react. It was just like Wolfram to point out his flaws. Usually he at least did it where Yuuri could see him.

Greta wiped her face off on her father's shirt. "I just want us to be a family again," she cried, hiccuping.

Yuuri helped her sit up, holding her shoulders as he smiled gently. "We're still a family. Where I come from, sometimes moms and dads don't live together and the kids live with just one or the other. Even if Wolfram isn't here, it doesn't make him any less your dad. I mean, it was a little weird at first but I think having him around, especially when I was away, was the best way things could have been. But I'm going to be around more, okay? So even if it's just you and me, you won't be alone for very long."

Greta smiled, arms around her father again for a hug. "Yuuri, if Wolfram is married does that make his husband my daddy too?"

"Uh.. I think two dads is enough."

Greta nodded, sitting back to rub her eyes. "I think my two dads are the best. I really wanted you to get married instead."

Yuuri kissed her head. "It's okay. And if it's not, I'm going to do everything I can to make it okay. So please don't cry."

"Greta will be strong," his daughter announced, sitting up a little taller though her bloodshot eyes were still pitiful and glistening with potential tears.

Yuuri smiled at her, full of pride, and looked around the room. "So, Wolfram said you were on chapter eight already? Do you think you could read it to me or are you too tired now?"

"Greta can read it!"

"Let's get ready for bed, then, and you can tell me all about the princess and the dragon and the lying spell."

Greta slid off the bed and hurried to change while Yuuri took his time, pulling out the folded blue pajamas from his drawers and thinking of their pink frilled counterpart no longer to be seen beneath the green duvet together. He wondered if Wolfram wore feminine night clothes for his husband too and immediately though better of such thoughts, hoping to drive away the mental image with tales of fantasy. In books, at least, there was always a happy ending.


	7. Chapter 7

Murata groaned as Yuuri shoved him down into the cushioned desk chair in front of the credenza, stacks of paper and inkwell waiting beside the cleared space on the protective pad.

“Gah, Shibuya!” he exclaimed, palms down on the hardwood surface. “I still don’t understand why you need _my_ help.”

It was late afternoon, slowly falling sun shining down through the tall windows of the king’s bedchamber where the two young men gathered. Greta and the necessary members of Shin Makoku’s court were busy in their day-to-day, the conclusion of his morning meetings giving Yuuri time to escape. Finding Murata had been a stroke of luck he hadn’t planned on receiving and--knowing Shinou--was probably not entirely coincidental.

Yuuri picked up a fresh quill and held it out to his friend. “Because I need someone who can read and write their language.”

“Is this about Wolfram?” Murata asked, accepting the quill and brushing its feather absently against his chin. “Why do you need my help writing it? Why not ask Sir Weller?”

“Wolfram’s his little brother. It might be weird. I’m guessing you know what happened, right?”

The Great Sage reincarnate nodded. “Lord Voltaire is proving himself in both his strengths and weaknesses. I figured you might need someone to keep you from catching the first ship to Trebic but I didn’t expect this.” He tapped the tip of his quill into the black ink, blotting off the excess and tracing practice lines along his scrap for form and flow. “So, what are we writing? A confession?”

Yuuri sighed, leaning against the credenza. “Not the way you mean it. Just promise me you’ll help me with the correspondence, okay? Both the writing and reading parts until I can do it myself.”

“Alright, Shibuya. Whatever you feel is best.” Murata slid a fresh sheet of paper in front of himself, hand poised to begin with the address. “Ready when you are.”

With a long sigh and thoughts settled, Yuuri began to dictate.

-Wolfram,  
-How are you? Things are fine here. Conrad told me what happened and Gwendal tried to explain why but it still feels wrong. It’s hard to sleep when I think about it. I could have prevented this if I had been here and we all know it. I’m not sure what I would have done instead but no matter what it would not have been this….

+Yuuri,  
+When my mother made the mistake of listening to her advisors above her own sense, many people died. No one has died by your hand or decree so get some sleep already! I’m fine. I believe in your politics more than I do my brother’s but what we did seems to be doing everything we could have hoped for and more. As a king, you should be proud. It’s time you started to think and act like a king and consider the common good above the individual….

-I know you’re right, Wolfram, but I don’t think I can accept that. Everyone deserves the same rights to happiness and freedom whether they are a common person or a noble. I don’t want to make a world where peace is bought and sold this way. We should be nice to each other because we want to, not because we have something to gain….

+You can’t change the world until you have the world’s attention. I’m sorry I’ve failed you in your vision but perhaps it won’t be entirely in vain if I have at least increased your audience….

-I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that. I should thank you but I don’t want you to think I want this for you. Did you see the ships we sent? There is a crate there full of stuff Greta and I put together for you. Back home it’s called a “care package”. …

+I’m fine, Yuuri. Stop apologizing so much. Anyone who found these letters would think we had a true wimp for a king.  
+I received the crate. I don’t know why you sent me that stupid children’s book we were reading. If it was Greta, tell her thank you. If it was you, I hope you finished it before you sent it. I shouldn’t have to be the only one who has to read this ridiculous thing. When the next ship returns, I’ll see about sending something back. …

-Sorry for not writing back very soon. I went home. My mom says ‘hi’ and she sent me with a present since it’s Christmas. I hope it fits. Greta loved the chocolates you sent her and the dress. I guess that’s what people in Trebic wear? I want to visit but because of the Big Cimarron presence Gwendal says it has to wait. Probably until the wedding. I guess it’s none of my business but do you like your husband? Do you think you’ll love him someday?...

+No. I will never love him. My heart is made to love only one person and no one else. But he’ll be a good king someday. I will be able to tolerate him until his life is over, I think. And then, hopefully, I will be able to come home. Since humans live such short lives, I’ll still be quite young. Please leave a place for me to return to. And if you marry another man, I will kill you both.  
+Alfie really liked that stupid children’s book you sent. The stuffed dragon I’m sending is from him to Greta. Why do you have to have such bad taste in books?....

-There will always be a place here for you, Wolfram, no matter what happens or how long it takes. But trust me, you don’t have to worry about me marrying a guy. Not now, not ever. ….  
-Greta misses you a lot. She made a snowman family of you, me and her the other day. I was a very proud father. I wish there was a way to show you....  
-You call him Alfie?...

+Most of his family call him Alfie. It’s just easier.  
+We had a minor scuffle recently with Big Cimarron. They took out one of our ships and pretty badly damaged one of the Shin Makoku fleet as well. As Chief Consult for Human-Mazoku relations, I’ve been pretty busy. Is Gwendal purposefully sending half-mazoku sailors?...

-Sometimes I forget how much you’ve changed. Chief Consult for Human-Mazoku is amazing, Wolf! I’m glad they’re letting you contribute and you’re not just a prisoner or something. I remember when we first met how proud and arrogant and discriminating you were. I guess I never think about how big a change it’s been since most of the time you’re with me you’re the same old Wolfram who calls me a cheater and bullies me around. I know it sounds dumb but I am really happy to know someone like you is looking out for our sailors out there. Thank you…..  
-I received a letter from Flynn in Caloria. They’re holding some kind of party there in a couple months or so. I was wondering if maybe you received an invitation too?...

+You change everyone you meet, Yuuri, and even those you don’t just by being here. Being a positive presence can mean a great deal in the larger scheme of things. I’m trying to live by your example here but maybe it would have been best if you’d married Alfie instead. I’d have to kill you both, but at least Trebic would get to see the real bleeding heart of Shin Makoku. …  
+We received the invitation from _Lady_ Flynn too. We’re planning to attend….

-Wolfram, do you still want me to rescue you?....

+Someday. Like you did for all the others who wanted your help. But I have work I have to do here. As long as you write to me, I have something to look forward to….

-You’re stronger than me….

+You taught me what real strength was….

-I miss you. I can’t wait to see you again….

+…I’ll see you in Caloria.  
+Love always,  
+Wolfram

-…I’ll be waiting.  
-Sincerely,  
-Yuuri

“Sincerely?” Murata asked, tapping at the inkwell again. “So impersonal, Shibuya. You two have been so expressive over the past few months. You can do better than that.”

Yuuri sat in the armchair which had long before been moved to the right of the credenza, a comfortable place to hear Wolfram’s letters read and dictate his own. He frowned, sinking down into the plush red fabric, slippers on his cold feet. Murata had not been mistaken when he’d spoken about drafty castles in winter. “Well, what would you write then?”

“I don’t know. Something from the heart. Why not _forever faithful_ or _affectionately yours_?”

The king bolted up from his seat, “You didn’t write any of those, did you? He’ll think you’re being serious!”

Murata sighed, feather quill tickling his nose. “I am being serious. Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” he said, lacing his fingers behind his back as he paced in thought. This had always been the worst part of the letter writing process. One could open with _dear_ without anyone reading anything into it but the closing, chock full of choices all just waiting to spring new meaning into the entire letter, was a different matter. Sincerely was safe; he liked sincerely. He was being sincere so why should there be any problem with it? He paused over Murata’s shoulder, looking down at a page that was one of several, words he knew popping out here and there while still a majority he had either forgotten or did not know. “How about… _sincerely yours_?” he asked.

Murata smiled his please kitten grin and easily made the change. “I think that will do.”

Looking at his contentment, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel like the sagely man had conned him into something again. They waited for the ink to dry then folded and stuffed the papers, Yuuri’s seal stamped firmly into place over the flap of the large envelope. There was only a week until the ball in Caloria, just a week to prepare and travel, to be ready to see old friends and new. A week had never felt like so short an amount of time. Yuuri hoped that just maybe the letter would still get to Wolfram before they departed. He handed it off to a guard posted outside his room then returned, looking out his bedroom windows at his snowy kingdom with her frosted panes of glass and steeples of smoke rising out from the city streets.

Murata stood beside him, wiping ink from his fingers where the black was staining the skin. “Who all is going to be attending the party with you? Have you decided on who you will bring?”

“Well, Conrad will want to go. You know Flynn as well as I do so you should probably come too. You might find some pretty girls to dance with.”

“May I offer a suggestion?”

Yuuri nodded, always willing to know what his friends thought.

“Take Lord Voltaire as your primary retainer and leave the rest here. He can fill the other needs in your service with his own men.”

“Only Gwendal?” the king shook his head, looking curiously at his friend. “I can’t leave Conrad behind. He’s practically my bodyguard as far as these things go. He’s always at my side.”

“And he is also the only one to have actually met Prince Alfgeir Havard. When it comes time for the state wedding, it is likely Gwendal will be too busy with his duties to attend. This may be the only time he will be able to meet the man he married his brother to. I’m sure he’s just as worried if not more so about Wolfram than you are. And it would be a good gesture of forgiveness.”

Yuuri’s face clouded slightly. “I don’t think I have forgiven him, Murata.”

“All the more reason to go with Lord Voltaire.” The sage walked back to the desk, tossing the dirty rag to the trash. “Whatever you decide, just don’t forget that the more people you bring, the more ways in which you have to share your time with Wolfram. There’s already Alfie. “

“Right… thanks, Murata.”

The sage nodded, leaving the room and its solitary inhabitant to the vacant landscape outside his window.


	8. Chapter 8

Yuuri had not seen so many friends in one place in quite some time. Under the sparkle of chandelier light, weaving in and out of elegant halls with hanging tapestries, rooms of portraits and fine buffet tables, surrounded in the smells of roasted meats and uncorked wine, the king found many a face he could smile and wave at with recognition. He waved and spoke briefly with Hiscruyff and his daughter Beatrice, the little girl dressed in her party best, purple lace and lilac ribbon. He wished he’d have brought Greta with him, had thought about it but left her with Conrad instead. As much as she wanted to see Wolfram, Yuuri was unsure of her meeting Alfgeir until he'd had the pleasure and of doing so alone. Conrad had described him as similar to Yozak in build and strength with none of the delicacy. While Yuuri wouldn't have chosen 'delicate' as a word to describe the undercover solider, the picture it painted did not make Yuuri feel any more at ease. As he watched Gwendal's observant eyes scan the growing crowd, he felt the same unease was certainly shared.

Gwendal seemed as dressed for a funeral as he was for a party, grimace set as he stood awkwardly in his dark dress uniform. It had been a quiet trip, neither having much to say to the other past the older mazoku's initial surprise at his requested presence. Conrad at least seemed to have understood, perhaps was even in on Murata's keen scheme to patch things up between king and tactician. Yuuri didn't need his friend to point out the conflicted manner in which Gwendal observed the Shin Makoku-Trebic alliance; he'd been seated at meetings for months between his retainer and Sir Bersi Veleif who was chief among the diplomats who came regularly to call on their court. Gunter was proud of how involved Yuuri had become in political doctrine above his usual hands-on crusading and the devotion he put into learning his country's written language. Gwendal, at least, seemed to understand it on a more personal level: a necessity born from a lack of trust. Even seeing him outside the castle where he had no power, Yuuri still found himself keeping a close eye on the mazoku lord as though he might spot Wolfram in the crowd and fail to let him know. He felt a twinge of guilt for how far out of proportion he felt he was taking the initial betrayal. But Gwendal would never apologize so long as territories and countries responded in favor to the unlikely union, his concern solely vested in the future no matter the sacrifice in the present. He was a man born and raised in a climate of war and Yuuri could only hope his would be the last generation to learn to undervalue the importance of quality of life.

Yuuri sighed, looking down into his fluted glass of juice--he'd been too nervous about drinking anything stronger. "He's not here," he said, disappointment evident in his voice.

Gwendal crossed his heavy arms over his chest though the slight tremble to his hands did not go unnoticed. "I will see that someone is sent to the docks to inquire on their arrival."

"What if he doesn't come?

"Then you will have to wait a while longer to see him."

The king nodded, not at all pleased with his options. He watched Gwendal pull one of his soldiers aside, instructing him in low voices, before returning his attention to his own post as self appointed bodyguard. Gwendal had the demeanor for the position but none of the friendliness Conrad possessed in make the idling bits entertaining. It was like standing near a weight bearing column without the benefit of something to lean on.

"You seem nervous," a gentle voice said, bringing a smile to Yuuri's face as he turned to face his host. Lady Flynn smiled in return, looking elegant as ever in a long, pale blue gown edged with fur for the winter occasion.

Yuuri bowed slightly, having already dispensed with formal greetings when he and Gwendal had arrived. "Just anxious I guess. Everything looks wonderful, Flynn. Thank you again for inviting us."

"It's my pleasure. I'm glad to have the opportunity to have the demon king among us. You've become quite popular these past few months." She took his arm, pulling him to walk with her as she made her way to the buffet. "Are you doing well? I hear bits and pieces of news but nothing more than idle gossip it seems."

"We're fine. Busy helping with some boarder disputes, mostly in defense of Trebic but a couple other places have asked for assistance too against Big Cimarron advancements. I'm glad to hear Caloria has been able to go untroubled."

Flynn took a glass of white wine off a silver tray and guided Yuuri out towards the balcony. Gwendal was never far behind. "We're lucky in that King Lanzhil does not find us very threatening. If you need any help, Yuuri, we would be glad to assist you."

Yuuri gave her arm a squeeze. "Thank you, Flynn. People like you are the reason the world is going to be alright someday." He caught her blush and looked away, a little embarrassed himself. "We can handle the current numbers of requests but I really do appreciate it. It means a lot to me that there are still people in power willing to cooperate for the common good rather than to gain something in return."

"Are you talking about the Trebic alliance? I was very surprised to hear about that. It didn't sound like the Yuuri I know."

"Because it wasn't. Gwendal took that matter into his own hands while I was away." Yuuri was sure Gwendal could hear him and winced at his own bitterness. This had been one of Murata's worst ideas.

Flynn paused on the balcony, arm leaving the crook of Yuuri's elbow for the smooth polished stone of the rail. "That's a shame. You've behaved quite admirably in handling such a surprise. I had no idea you'd been removed from the decision's making. No wonder you are this excited to see Wolfram."

Yuuri nodded, looking just slightly over his shoulder, catching the breadth of Gwendal's right shoulder as it extended past the drapes. "Flynn, what do you know about Alfgeir Havard?"

"Not much. But," she pointed out towards the walk below with a slender, gloved arm. "If I'm not mistaken, he's probably the man walking beside Wolfram."

Yuuri froze, listening to the rustle of the drapes and Gwendal stepped behind him, hearing the creak of his leather gloves as his hands made buckled fists. Yuuri slowly moved forward, leaning over the rail to peer down at the unmistakable beauty and poise of his long awaited friend beside whom walked the stranger Yuuri had anticipated with near dread in meeting.

Wolfram was dressed in red, a bright shade like blood over which swirls of gold mingled like trade winds on a map. He looked good in red, Yuuri noticed, but felt somehow he still looked wrong in it. Wolfram's colors were blues in his memory, making it all the more obvious that this was no longer his Wolfram. The man beside him, undoubtedly Alfgeir, walked with his hand against Wolfram's back, fingers curled around and engulfing the blonde's right shoulder. He was as tall and broad as Conrad had said, dressed similarly to Wolfram in a darker shade of red with a long sash worn across his chest. He was bearded and red of hair as well, reminding Yuuri of a well dressed viking. It was hard to say if it was what he had been afraid of or even what he had been expecting. Regardless of which, approaching the entrance to Flynn's estate was one of Yuuri's best friends and the husband to which he'd been assigned.

Wolfram paused mid step and looked up towards the balcony, eyes meeting Yuuri's without even having to search. And without hesitation or thought, Yuuri turned and ran back into the bustling rooms of party goers, dodging waiters and guests alike as he tore through the rooms and halls towards the front doors where late arrivals trickled in from the brisk night air. He saw Wolfram as a red blur getting larger and larger until it and his blonde hair was all he could see, arms wrapped around him tight with his cheek pressed to his ear. He smelled of the sea and ginger root. He felt thinner but just as strong. In his arms, Wolfram was stiff and unresponsive, liking holding tight to a mannequin. In seconds he could feel him melt, though, feel his face lean closer to his, his hands fall to Yuuri's hips, a reserved return of his enthusiastic embrace. There was a roar of laughter as two large arms wrapped around them both, Yuuri's eyes shooting wide as he was squeezed harder against his friend and lifted up off the ground, breathe leaving him momentarily as he unwillingly became part of a Wolfram sandwich.

"Ga-ah! Alfie!" Wolfram gasped, kicking out with his leg and catching his husband in the knee.

Alfgeir continued to laugh but settled the two back on the ground, rustling Yuuri's hair with his heavy palm as the king took a step back from his friend.

Wolfram glared up at his husband, punching him in the chest with a blow that seemed to hardly phase the larger man. "Will you remember where we are? Don't you dare embarrass me."

"Sorry, my pet." Alfgeir chuckled, kissing Wolfram's head as his hand returned to his shoulder. "I just got excited too. This is him, is it not? The double black demon king of Shin Makoku, Yuuri Shibuya! I've been looking forward to this meeting for a very long time."

Yuuri nodded dumbly, not certain what to think. "Uh, yeah. Hi. Oh, come in. We were just--Flynn's upstairs but I'm sure she'll be coming down to greet you." His tongue felt swollen as words failed to come out in sensible ways. He put his hands in his pockets, feeling the sweat on his palms as he smiled at Wolfram and his contractual agreement. Nervous didn't begin to cover it.

As expected, Lady Flynn joined them shortly, smile showing amusement in Yuuri's sudden flight. Gwendal followed, less amused and more concerned, eyes no longer watching his king as the brothers stood in the same room. The formalities and greetings were a buzz of background noise to Yuuri as he watched the irritation in Wolfram's animated face turn to a calmness of subtly under his brother's gaze. Though he knew telepathy was out of the question, he felt as though he were intruding upon a private conversation as Wolfram's closed expression transformed into a feint, soft smile, eyes sad but in agreement with the turn of his lips. The stiffness of Gwendal's posture remained unchanged, even as he averted his eyes to a far off corner where nothing but personal demons danced.

Suddenly Flynn was excusing herself as Wolfram walked off towards Gwendal. Yuuri could feel himself nodding in reply to a question he hadn't actually heard, suddenly confused as the person he was most anxious to see was a a retreating form several steps out of reach. He couldn't follow, even though he took a step forward to do so; the pat on his back was so sudden and hard he nearly face-planted into the tile floor.

"Guess that leaves just you and me," laughed Alfgeir Havard.

Yuuri rubbed at his spine, wincing slightly as he stood. "I guess so... uh.. sorry about running in here and grabbing your.. Wolfram like that."

The large man put his hand to his back, pushing him to come with him towards tables set up along the outskirts of a dance floor. "Don't you worry about it! I'm sure he'll be gushing about it for the next couple years or so!"

Whatever he had expected, Alfgeir was not quite it.

They took at seat at a corner table, away from the live instruments and the click of heals. Alfgeir took several thin glasses of wine and set them down on the table, downing three in three gulps and keeping the rest in waiting. Yuuri sat with a new glass of juice, nerves making it hard to hold it still let alone bring it to his lips. While meeting the Trebic prince had been his plan, being left alone with him had not really been part of it.

Alfgeir smiled with a wide mouth and hidden lips. "It was very kind of you to bring that man with you," he said. "Wolfy's been worried about him."

Yuuri paled slightly. He called him _Wolfy_? "Ah... I'm glad I did, then. You, uh... was the trip.. okay?"

"Splendid! Not every royal vessel gets escorted to Caloria by a small Shin Makoku regiment. That man would let no excuse come between us and this meeting. I'm very thankful."

"I'm glad." Yuuri slowly drank from his juice, looking with his eyes for a sign of Gwendal and Wolfram but finding none. Gwendal's guards were still all around, keeping him protected in his absence. Though he couldn't describe the feeling he got in the prince's presence, threatened wasn't quite it. "And has Wolfram been well?"

"He's sick of the heart but his flesh is perfection. Time will mend, I'm sure." Alfgeir chuckled. "Seeing you again has already rekindled a bit of that old spark in him; the power of love as they say."

Yuuri cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It's not really like that."

"Oh, no; it is. Whether you admit it or like it or not. That's the thing about love: it doesn't have to go both ways to be real." He winked at Yuuri, eyes bright and cheeks rosy. He looked twice Wolfram's age even if by years he could only be as much as half. "Don't worry. I'm not the jealous sort. As long as he's faithful to me and upholds his vows, he can love whomever he likes."

"Do you love him?"

Alfgeir's laugh was like a booming clock's tick. "No more than he does me."

The amusement he found in the situation was not shared. Yuuri clenched his fists under the table, throat dry but unable to drink. He'd felt no such disgust when he'd read that Wolfram did not think he would ever love Alfgeir; it made sense somehow and was to be expected. That the prince would feel the same, that neither felt anything, made a mistake seem more like a tragedy. "So what exactly is Wolfram to you, then?" he asked.

"My husband." Alfgeir raised another glass of wine. "He's my confidant in the mornings and a warm body at night. He's my partner in triumph and defeat, a companion who will be at my side no matter what. In short, he is everything a man needs to get out of bed in the morning and everything he looks forward to when the day is at its end. He's my friend, Your Majesty, and I should thank you for loaning him to me."

" _Loaning_ him? Just what-"

"Shhh. Don't take offense. I'm sincerely grateful to you. For my kingdom and myself, I thank you." He clinked his glass against Yuuri's stationary flute of juice and downed it like the others.

Yuuri was not quite sure what was going on. As Alfgeir drank, he caught sight of the red dressed mazoku, Wolfram finding them at much the same time and sliding through the crowd to meet them. He took a seat at the table between the two, Alfgeir pulling his chair closer despite earning a warning green-eyed glare. Yuuri relaxed, eased by his presence. Regardless of events, he was still quite obviously Wolfram.

"Where's Gwendal?"

"He had to see to something. I told him I would watch over you," Wolfram said, pushing Alfgeir's empty glasses aside.

Yuuri wished it was just the two of them. "Well, I know I'm in good hands."

The music in the room swelled and rose to a crescendo as dancer's spun in dizzy circles.

"Honestly, my big brother has enough to deal with without having to be made to watch you. Next time bring Conrad. He actually enjoys this stuff."

"And Greta. Next time. I promise."

Wolfram smiled softly, turning his nose up indignantly though his face lacked the proper attitude to be convincing. "You had better, wimp. I won't tolerate a king's broken promises."


	9. Chapter 9

In Yuuri's mind, everything had been an elaborate set up. Gwendal, Murata and Flynn had all conspired to make the perfect situation for kidnapping Wolfram down to the last detail with Conrad probably hiding in the wings somewhere, the pocket ace with horses waiting for a hasty retreat. Gwendal would fight off Alfgeir on his own, making amends through his tireless efforts to reclaim his brother. Tapestries would be used as nets, there would be mass havoc and confusion, maybe a food fight, but in the end they would find their way to their ships already waiting to depart and set sail for familiar shores. It would have been perfect, like any other number of fantastic rescues he'd seen in movies or been a part of himself. He couldn't readily recall any party he'd attended in their world which hadn't somehow ended in an elaborate escape. But here he sat, amidst music and gaiety, no sign of flight in sight. He hated that reality carried harsher consequences for such actions than his imagination.

With Gwendal having joined them at the table, stiff and awkward conversation about the weather and the party was replaced with technical aspects of naval ships as Alfgeir seemed to be a bit of an enthusiast. Neither Yuuri nor Wolfram had much to say on the subject, the two of them looking to each other with looks of boredom and the occasional eye-roll, amusing themselves with their lack of amusement.

Wolfram seemed more mature somehow, even as he scrunched up his pretty face at the continued talk of sail canvas and steam engines. Yuuri imagined it was probably to do with it being one of the first public occasions they'd attended together where the blonde mazoku had not spent his time chasing him down and threatening him, calling him a cheater, on guard and on his back all night long. The possessive prince had nothing to guard this time and sat calmly and patiently without his characteristic excitement. Yuuri appreciated it as much as he wished to see more of the Wolfram he knew best. Dressed in the red of the Trebic royal house, this was their Wolfram.

Alfgeir wrapped an arm around his husband's shoulders, leaning him closer to speak over the music. "Wolfy, you look bored. Why don't you and Yuuri dance or find something to entertain yourselves with. I'm sure His Majesty will be safe in your hands while I've got his retainer occupied."

Gwendal nodded. "My men are posted around the area."

Yuuri felt a rush of surprise and excitement. Perhaps this was where the great escape began. He stood slowly, not sure why his knees were shaking. "Ah.., I'm a terrible dancer but maybe we could just walk around or get some fresh air?"

"I have no intention of letting you step on my feet tonight," Wolfram said with a smile, rising as well. Alfgeir gave his shoulders a pat of encouragement, sending Wolfram stumbling forward, Yuuri holding out his arms to steady him as the ginger man laughed. Though Wolfram was no longer in any danger of falling, Yuuri kept his hand on his arm as the walked away from the table towards the veranda and the moonlit gardens still covered in snow.

Yuuri looked over his shoulder, watching Alfgeir smile and wave them on before turning back to Gwendal with another animated explanation of Trebic's latest naval marvel. "Is he always like that?"

"Always." Wolfram sighed heavily, shaking his head.

Despite the chill, the gardens were far from empty, several couples walking hand in hand through the rows of frosted bushes and snow peaked evergreens. Yuuri pulled Wolfram along, away from the half shadowed kissers and starry eyed pairs. They found a spot under a snow topped bough and ducked under its cover, standing with the mist of their breath hanging in air.

"Is he hard to put up with?" Yuuri asked.

Wolfram shrugged, picking at the tree's bark which came off like thick puzzle pieces. "I used to think so. Most people only carry on like that because they're hiding something. But Alfie's sort of like Conrad I guess in that he's just naturally easy going. He even reminds me of you sometimes."

Yuuri couldn't imagine how. He rubbed his hands together, wishing he'd thought to bring gloves. The cool lining of his trouser pockets made them less than ideal for keeping his hands warm. He'd rather be cold than lose the time he had, though he was at a loss for what to say. "You know, there are probably a million different questions I could ask you but the only ones I really want to ask are the ones you've already answered."

"I'm fine, Yuuri."

The king shook his head, unsatisfied by the recycled response."Fine isn't great. Fine isn't even okay. Fine is just an easy way to get out of a complicated explanation."

"Fine is tolerable. Fine is necessary," Wolfram explained.

"This isn't necessary."

"It is now."

Yuuri crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms for warmth as his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He hated that explanation, the understanding that there had once been a time when things could have been undone that had passed before Yuuri had even know there was something to object to. It was sudden, unexpected, an unprecedented betrayal of his trust and Gwendal was not the sole culprit. Yuuri watched Wolfram shiver as a cold drop of ice-water dripped onto his cheek from above. "Why did you do it?" he asked. "It may have been Gwendal's idea but it's not as though he forced you. Why did you chose to do this? I don't understand." He stepped closer, the fog of his breath mingling with Wolfram's as he lowered his voice in the presence of possible eavesdroppers. "I mean.. you talk about how much you love me and you go on and on about how we're going to be married some day and I was even scared you were busy planning the wedding behind my back and one day I'd come back and there you'd be checking off the guest list. But instead I come back and you're not there anymore and everyone is talking about how you married someone else. Did something happen? Did I do something?"

Wolfram stared at him for a few breaths, green eyes narrow but without anger. They were emerald orbs of ash more than embers, the remains of a fire that had slowly gone out. He looked away before long, his attention returning to the bark of the tree, the crinkle of feet compacting the snow on the garden paths, the sheltered giggles of couples far more passionate than them. The smell of wood-fires and evergreen gave each shuddered breath a taste of winter. Wolfram let his head hang low as he looked out under the bough."There are very few ways in which you let me love you. And for the first time I was offered an opportunity to give you something no one else could. We lost over a hundred lives in the previous battles with Trebic, and that's just on the Shin Makoku side. I have saved hundreds more lives just by promising a few decades of my life to someone."

"You'll miss out on Greta's life in those few decades."

The noble winced slightly, not from the cold. "Hopefully I will have at least played some part in giving our daughter the world her father has always wanted for her so she never has to live by my example."

"I would never let-"

"She's a princess, Yuuri." Wolfram barked, a slight spark returning to his eyes with a flash of anger. "With all the privileges and responsibilities that her title entails. If King Lanzhil or even the next Big Cimarron king said he would end his campaign against Shin Makoku if and only if you gave him Greta, could you honestly turn it down? You don't want to win this war with violence, how many other options do you think are left?"

"I'll find a way," he promised, grabbing Wolfram's arm and pulling him to look at him, to see his sincerity and believe in him as he thought he did.

The mazoku prince continued to glare. "I hope you do. But no matter what you do, there are going to be sacrifices."

"You're wrong."

"How many times have you been prepared to die for your country, Yuuri? You think you're the only one who cares that much or the only one who can do it?" The king opened his mouth to reply but Wolfram was not finished, pulling his arm from his grasp and shoving against his chest as his voice raised in anger. "If I had died in battle you wouldn't be upset with me but because I chose to fight this war with my heart instead of my sword, you can't accept it! If you're so scared of my love for you, if you can't accept it, if you have to run away from it every time it's too real for you, why do you care if I married Alfie?"

"Because you're not happy!" Yuuri yelled back, grabbing Wolfram's arms to keep him from running off. Fine wasn't happy.

"And watching you flirt with women and run from me made me happy at home? At least now I'm doing something!"

The king winced, mouth running on auto pilot as both their tempers broke free. "You abandoned Greta!"

"Don't you even dare try and talk to me about abandoning her! I've been the only one there for her more than half the time since you decided to adopt her!"

Yuuri's pulse was racing, a sweat forming on his brow even in the crisp winter air. He tightened his grip, more worried than ever that Wolfram would pull away and run. Their time now was too precious to waste in useless bickering. "Look, I don't want to fight!"

"No, you just don't want to _lose_ the fight. You know I'm right, dammit!

Not knowing what else to do, in the absence of all rational thought, pulse pounding and anxiety making his hands tremble in their frightened grasp, Yuuri pulled Wolfram close and kissed him. His lips didn't linger, a short but firm pressure, noses only barely missing. He kissed him and pulled back, staring with mouth hanging open and eyes just as startled as the green ones staring back at him.

He'd kissed Wolfram.

Yuuri let him go slowly, his knuckles nearly frozen into place, not wanting to unfurl from his arms. He'd kissed another man. The strange tingle of sensation across his lips warmed them far more than the tremble of his breath. His first real kiss. "S-sorry... I... I don't know what...I'm really sorry."

Wolfram's hands, cold as ice, fell upon his cheeks as he pulled his face close and kissed him back. His kiss was not an innocent laying of lips but a siege of sensitive flesh, mouth parted, breath hot. Yuuri froze in place, part of the elements, as shocked by Wolfram as he had been by himself. He parted his lips slightly, letting Wolfram's close over them. They were gasping. There was no time to breathe--their bodies had found better means to survive. Yuuri wrapped his arms around him, finding the small of his back and pulling him close. It was warm and comfortable, flat chest to flat chest like a single mold's broken halves.

The snow above fell over them, bough knocked free of its heavy burden and sending the two friends leaping in opposite directions in shocked response. Yuuri shook the snow from his hair, knees weak but somehow still supporting him. Looking down he saw two pairs of feet in the snow and raising his face found two pairs of eyes from two very different faces. Yuuri's heart sank, the chill running down his spine having very little to do with the racing rivers of snow water seeping down his shirt.

"You were heard arguing. There was some concern you might start a fight," Gwendal said, looking between the two, eyes refusing to linger too long on either.

Alfgeir took off his dress jacket and slung the mighty thing over Wolfram's shoulders, the size of it engulfing him like a child playing in their father's things. He took his husband's hands in his own, pressing warmth into the cold digits. "Wolfie, you're frozen. Come inside. I'll ask that someone show us to our room and get us a fire started."

Wolfram nodded mutely, eyes still locked on Yuuri.

There was nothing to say.

Alfgeir pulled Wolfram close, rubbing at his arms to warm him as they walked back into the elegant halls through the garden doors. Yuuri could feel Gwendal standing close, his disproving stare boring down into him as he watched Wolfram leave instead. Without warning the weight of Gwendal's own dress jacket plopped down on Yuuri's head, landing him in an oasis of borrowed warmth as he closed it across his chest.

"Don't ever get caught again."

Yuuri looked over his shoulder at his retainer, shaking with cold and perhaps a bit of fear. Gwendal said nothing more as he too took the path back into the estate leaving his king under the watchful eyes of his men and the moon.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But it was not your fault, but mine  
> And it was your heart on the line  
> I really fucked it up this time  
> Didn't I, my dear?  
> -"Little Lion Man"; Mumford & Sons

Outside the areas dressed and prepared for the entertainment of guests were long halls of stately rooms set aside for the overnight comfort of royalty and dignitaries whose needs were too great for an inn to manage. As they walked behind the attendant, Wolfram saw guards of Gwnedal's olive regiment posted outside twin doors, keeping vigilance over the empty room of the Shin Makoku king. He was sure the guards recognized him but their steely faces looked through him as they walked past, eyes meant only to observe threats. Not too long before that would have been his room. With the taste of Yuuri's kiss still lingering on his lips, Wolfram walked faster to match his husband's stride and retreated into their own room flanked in Trebic red.

The room was simple but masculine with a large bed and thick blankets of baby blue for warmth. There were dark wood accents and heavy chairs around the fireplace whose hearth was being attended to by a young girl in a white apron. It was cozy, certainly warmer than the gardens and halls. Soon the flames took hold with a snap and crackle over the cut logs and the young girl bowed and left, door closed and world left outside of the princes' chamber. Wolfram dropped into the seat of a chair unceremoniously and began to remove his boots, delighted by the warmth even at the restlessness in his gut. His pulse had yet to steady with his heart still fluttering madly in his chest. He could blame the cold for the slight tremble in his fingers as they struggled with the thick laces of his boots, at least.

Alfgeir sighed loudly as he pulled his chair across from Wolfram's, the wood giving a warning creak as his heavy body plopped into it. He stroked his beard, watching Wolfram in the firelight. "I don't blame him. You look beautiful tonight."

Wolfram paused for a moment then pulled his left boot off, tossing it aside to begin on the right. "I'm sorry," he said, head bowed.

"Don't be. You know I don't mind."

"I do." Wolfram threw his last boot to join the first, socked feet stretched out before the flames. "I don't accept this kind of behavior from you, I certainly don't accept it from myself."

The ginger man chuckled. "You take everything so seriously. I have to say I like that about you." Alfgeir leaned across, giving Wolfram's knee a pat. "I wonder if you will still be as stubborn when I'm grey and wrinkled and you're still beautiful."

"I vowed as much and I am a man of my word.”

“I know you are, pet. I’m not accusing you of anything.” He leaned further and kissed his cheek, coarse beard scratching lightly at his face as he rose from his chair and stretched, walking over to their chest of clothes brought in off their ship.

The fire kicked off sparks as it bit into the wood, flickering brightly as it danced with its smoke in an arc towards the flue. Under the shadow of the tall back of his armchair, Wolfram placed his face in his hands and leaned over his lap, unable to keep the fight from his thoughts as it played over and over again in his mind. Yuuri yelling, Yuuri grabbing, Yuuri pleading, Yuuri kissing, Yuuri holding him not like he held his friends but with strength and determination. It was what he’d always wanted but never been ready to receive. Loving Yuuri was as normal and natural as the beating of his heart--as was being rejected by him; Yuuri feeling anything for him was purely fantasy. But Yuuri had kissed him first, had kissed him back. Running his fingers through his bangs, Wolfram pulled on his own hair, keeping a frustrated scream inside behind teeth clenched shut.

\---

Yuuri felt as though every eye in the place was on him as he walked inside, patches of snow still dampening his hair as he held tight to Gwendal's jacket. Even guests who's backs were to him gave him the distinct impression of watching his every move with critical stares. They knew. Everyone knew. When he got home Shori would know and his father and mother and the entire baseball team as well. Everyone living and dead in every corner of the known universe had just seen him kissing another guy. Yuuri's face burned red as he ducked into the collar of the borrowed jacket like a turtle retreating into his shell. It wasn't very manly but thus far his man-meter was waning and couldn't sink any lower. He'd been confused and panicked, it was a spur of the moment thing that meant absolutely nothing. Thinking on his feet was generally not his best, outcomes fine but means generally getting through on a thread. A kiss to get someone to be quiet was just as effective as a slap, surely. It didn't necessarily mean he was interested in Wolfram like that.

But then there was _Wolfram's_ kiss. That hadn't been in a panic, hadn't been to stop the fight or change the subject. It had been a real kiss and it had felt... Yuuri's fingers ghosted over the still sensitive flesh of his own lips. Of course, it made sense. Boys and girls had the same lips, it worked the same way, just because he enjoyed kissing didn't mean he liked another guy. It just meant he hadn't cared that it was Wolfram's lips on his or his body pressed against him or his tongue-

-oh. Oh no. Yuuri walked faster through the halls, nearly running as he slid around corners, avoiding other guests with mumbled apologies for nearly split drinks or crashes. He stumbled over the tassels on rugs and pushed off the walls until finally coming to his own room, doors held open for him by men well paid for a mostly uneventful job. He slowed down so as not to alarm them, smiling a little too big as he nervously laughed his way into his chamber, closing the door behind him. He threw Gwendal's jacket over the back of a chair as he held on tight to the upholstery, staring down at himself in shock and disbelief.

The crotch of his trousers was tented, a very familiar heat fueling an automatic response through his pulse. He was turned on, not fully hard but quite piqued. He thought he had left such embarrassments behind him with puberty, the random flashes of arousal with no source or direction. Not that it had exactly been random, not that he couldn't name the source. Not that he didn't know exactly what had made his head swim, heart jump in his chest and, apparently, loins awaken. He rested his head on folded arms, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself. Still part of him denied it, screaming like a child that it was just part of being a guy and didn't mean anything, that Wolfram's feminine face had him confused, that his thin body wasn't necessarily unmistakable for a flat chested woman's, that this happened to lots of guys after having their first kiss, that his worrying and anxiety were manifesting in new ways to try and find relief. The simple answer was just too simple: he was attracted to Wolfram.

It wasn't too far a stretch. He'd always thought he was beautiful, had never denied that the mazoku prince possessed physical traits that were admired. It had never made a difference before how beautiful the brat had been but he wasn't that same brat anymore. The beautiful face had a beautiful heart and soul slowly chiseled out from under the ugly rough of prejudice and hate. Somehow a lovely man had become simply a lovey person no longer judged by gender and Yuuri's pulsing arousal was proof enough that some very primal part of him did not care in the slightest that below the belt a similar proof of manhood hung. While the thought made him nervous, it did not help in the dismissal of his persistent erection.

He raises his head and looked around the room, giving the door a long, quiet check as the shadows blocking the light below it staid stationary at their post. Slowly he moved his hands, removing them from the back of the chair to see to the removal of his belt, careful of making any sound for fear of being caught. He undid the buttons of his fly, biting his lip as necessity caused his fingers to press against his wanting. The black bikini cut panties were becoming somewhat painful though he had to admit they did a better job than boxers at containing the unexpected. He pulled the strings loose on one side, the black cloth flapping over and out of the way, letting his erection slide free.

Biting his bottom lip he wrapped his fingers around his cock and ran his thumb up to the head, drawing the foreskin taut as he rubbed it. Wolfram was uncircumcised as well. He'd seen but hadn't really been looking at his fully naked body as he laid frozen in his coffin shaped coffer. Cold as it had to be, he wouldn't pass any judgement. The body had been no different from his own, though. If he could touch himself like this, would it really be so...

Yuuri laid one arm back over the top of the chair, leaning his forehead against it as he let out a long, shaky breath, hand moving up and down along his own flesh. He imagined Wolfram's hand in place of his own, knowledgeable but curious fingers feeling along his body in ways Yuuri hadn't thought to touch. Wolfram's lips on his, his neck, maybe even-

-Yuuri trembled, stifling a moan as he bit at the insides of his lip, body warm with the cold of the snow forgotten. Wolfram probably would if he asked him to, maybe even if he didn't. Yuuri could almost imagine the hot breath and moist pressure against his lips being pressed against him there. It was almost enough to finish him off. He felt a little weird thinking about his friend as he touched himself but it had been thoughts of him in the first place that lead to the abuse. Wolfram's kiss had been like a fever, a contagion passed on and growing stronger with every minute.

The fever broke with a grunt, spilling against his palm and he leaned heavily into the chair for strength. He kept Wolfram's name against his tongue, waiting for the race of his pulse to die down as his breath came in long, trembling sighs.

For months Wolfram had been at his side or running to find him, laying beside him in his bed and reminding him at ever turn that he was there for Yuuri, to be Yuuri's, to love him and protect him and walk the dangerous path beside him no matter where it lead. At any other time, he could have pulled Wolfram aside and kissed him and Wolfram would have been there to accept his feelings. Yuuri wasn't sure whom he was more mad at that it would never be that easy again.

Standing straight, Yuuri waddled with his pants below his knees to the trash bin, finding a bit of crumpled paper inside to wipe his hand off on before pulling his clothes back in order and visiting the wash basin to scrub away the residue. He'd only been standing there a minute before the door opened, Gwendal marching in to Yuuri's white faced panic.

"G-Gwendal.. H- Uh, you're jacket. It's on the chair. Thank you."

Gwendal spared it a brief look, nodding slightly as he verified its presence. "It seems the general belief is that you and Wolfram were having an argument over custody of Greta. Anyone who thinks they saw otherwise is either remaining silent or is limited to myself and Prince Alfgeir."

Yuuri swallowed hard, not sure how observant the older man was or if there were any clues to observe. "So, what does that mean? What happens now?"

"Nothing happens. We board our ship in the morning and sail home."

"Without Wolfram."

Gwendal nodded slowly, eyes averted. "As was the plan."

The king clenched his fists, not feeling in the least bit relaxed anymore. "Why am I the only person who sees just how wrong this is?!" he asked, unable to keep his voice steady with his time running out.

Gwendal stood perfectly still, haunted eyes looking past him for a long time before. He looked ancient and wise, taught by pain and grief rather than books. Slowly he turned his back and stepped towards the door. "You're not the only one who loves him," he said over his shoulder. He pushed the bedroom doors open and left, his guards closing the door behind him for the king's continued safety.


	11. Chapter 11

The marina was full of fishing boats and trawlers, private luxury liners and at least two sizable defensive ships with canons pulled away from the port side windows out of respect to the once ravaged lands of Caloria. It smelled, tasted and sounded like every other dock Yuuri had walked across, wooden planks creaking under foot on rusted nails under the weight of merchants and soldiers. He kept close to Gwendal, walking in his shadow as they made their way to the smaller of the Shin Makoku ships docked there, nearly half the size of the one sent to guard the Trebic flagship and its royal passengers. Yuuri thought it odd, staring at the guardian vessel and her two flags hanging limply atop the center mast. Several men on deck saw him and waved, most others seeming far too busy in preparations to look anywhere but where they were going. It was a war ship. Even if it was only for protection, seeing it made Yuuri worry. Staring up at her tiers of canon laden decks he could make out the signature blue of Wolfram’s uniform worn by several men--members of Wolfram’s regiment. Why a cavalry had been called to sea, Yuuri could not imagine. Perhaps they hadn’t wanted to say goodbye either. He admired their loyalty as much as he envied their freedom to follow. He recognized the red uniforms as well, much simpler to the dress attire Alfgeir and Wolfram had worn but unmistakably related. Plain clothes sailors and suited soldiers made up several other classes of crew aboard the out of place vessel. It was true to the flags it bore: a menagerie of mazoku and humans working together towards a common goal.

Gwendal came to a stop, Yuuri’s face finding his back as he walked into him from behind. He took a few steps back, leaning around his retainer at the crates being loaded in their path from a merchant ship. An older man with white hair and a muscled build that was all too familiar sat on one such crate with a long piece of straw pinched between his teeth. He winked a bright blue eye at Yuuri as he stood and hefted a large sack over his shoulder, walking towards the war ship’s ramp where other men stood waiting with supplies still left to load. He wasn’t what Gwendal had stopped for, however. As the milling waves of sailors shifted along the dock, Yuuri caught sight of the flash of red and gold and watched as people parted slowly to let him view the royal couple.

Alfgeir and Wolfram stood on the dock before their own ship, small in comparison to their leading vessel but not unlike Yuuri’s own. Alfgeir’s hand was again around Wolfram’s shoulders, the blonde’s arms crossed over his chest in characteristic unease. A small knitted animal hung from a chain on his belt loop.

“He’ll take good care of him.”

Yuuri looked up at Gwendal. The older man stood with jaw set and eyes cold, lips caught in a line between scowl and frown. It was more in the way he held his shoulders that Yuuri could tell he was relieved. At least one of them had gotten what he wanted in their voyage.

Yuuri looked back at Wolfram, a name finally given to the feeling of heartache. “Is that really enough? Just to be taken care of?”

“In these matters, yes.” Gwendal began walking again, their ship not far.

Yuuri followed though he continued to shoot long glances over towards the red couple and their ship. On board he climbed up the quarter deck to the poop, leaning over the rails to keep his gaze trained on his friend. He was almost fearful Wolfram would see him watching, not sure how he could look him in the eyes knowing the thoughts that had been in his head. Wolfram wasn’t just a friend anymore, not since their kiss. He wondered if Wolfram felt that way too now or had felt that way all along. There hadn’t been time to speak since they parted in the garden and for his part Yuuri had not sought him out that morning. It was almost better to have just stayed friends forever knowing in the end it had to be like this. Wolfram’s eyes never met Yuuri’s, the prince keeping his gaze low as he boarded his own ship set to sail far away. Humans and mazoku both bowed as they came on board, their smiles visible even from several yards away. He could almost make out Alfgeir’s words, loud and strong on the wind, but could more easily tell just by the laughter and cheers of the men that it had been cheerful and good for morale. Gwendal joined Yuuri at the aft, quiet in his vigil as they both watched the integrated vessel prepare for departure.

Yuuri hung his head, looking below at the foam slapping against the ship. “I thought I knew what it was like to be a king, Gwendal. When I had to worry about people coming home alive, I thought ‘ _This is hard. These are the tough decisions_ ’ but I never thought…” He shook his head, letting out a long breath. “This whole thing has more to do with making people see that the world is changing than it does an actual alliance. And I can’t make myself not see that it’s working. And that makes this the best decision I could never have made. I see the men on those ships and I see exactly what I’ve wanted us to work towards. Caloria accepts us and we’re on good terms but in the time we’ve known them there still has not been this degree of mingling. It’s the same with Sara and Small Cimarron. You found a way to spread my message with happiness and good intentions instead of war and conflict. It’s perfect. Everything about it on the public side is idealized and sends a powerful message. Wolfram was right: you are more fit than me to be the demon king.”

Gwendal stood quiet. Yuuri wondered if the stoic man would share his thoughts at all or simply reprimand him. He was surprised to feel Gwendal’s hand on his shoulder, a brief pat that he withdrew just as quickly.

“Our world is full of bitter, selfish people, Your Majesty, who have forgotten what it is like to wish for the wellbeing of others. I have learned from experience that sometimes it takes the sacrifice of something important to make people see that they are part of a much bigger world than they once believed. And still I would take it all back to see the good you could have done had I not attended to the situation myself.”

Yuuri’s hands tightened on the railing. He watched human sailors toss down lines of rope to mazokus, mazoku sailors helping heave heavy crates below deck with humans. He saw people working together, differences mostly forgotten. He turned his back to it, looking up at his tactician with mirthless determination. “What’s done is done. And maybe I need someone like you to make the tough decisions for me sometimes. So let’s promise to argue a lot in the future. We know how this all needs to end so please be there to help me get us there. No matter how much I hate this, don’t ever stop trying to save this world.”

Gwendal nodded slowly, shoulder’s relaxing just the slightest bit more.

\---

The trip back to Shin Makoku had been uneventful, weather conditions remaining fair as they reached the snow dusted landscape of the mazoku capital. Yuuri wasted little time in giving his daughter a hug and kiss with news of Wolfram’s health and well wishes. It was good to hold her again and see the familiar faces of his kingdom. Conrad’s smile was just as reassuring as it had always been and he didn’t even mind Gunter’s excited praise as they walked the halls of Blood Pledge Castle. Work had piled up with neither him nor Gwendal there to see to it, though. Despite the gnawing need in his gut to return to Earth for a break from politics, Yuuri sat with the tactician in the war room to go over the more important, international concerns waiting for his reply.

“Sir Veleif is requesting more ships,” Gwendal summarized for his king’s ease from the long roll of parchment in his hands.

Yuuri looked at the maps sprawled out on the table like a game of Risk, several of their ship pieces already relocated to the Trebic waters. “How many more? There’s four there now counting the escort ship.”

“Three more.”

The king sighed, looking at the pieces left in their own waters. “We have one en route with supplies. We could have it stay for a bit I guess, couldn’t we?”

Gwendal eyed the map but nodded at length. “So long as Sir Veleif maintains his end of the bargain.”

“I’m sure he will. He seems like a nice guy. And if he doesn’t, we’ll be told by the sailors and he can forget about more ships until he can afford their keep.”

Gwendal wrote down the reply and sent it to the aviary to inform the Trebic council and the en route ship as well. “I’m afraid this will delay my brother’s response to your correspondence,” he said, breaking the seal on the next item to be discussed.

“That’s okay. I’d like to return to Earth when we’re done so I wouldn’t be here to respond for a while anyway.”

The older man put the next letter down, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “We can be done if you are in a hurry. I know it has been some times since you last returned.”

Yuuri shook his head. “It’s only been a couple days or so in their time.”

“It has been several weeks in ours.” He stacked the papers nicely on the desk in their designated pile. “Go home and see your family. There is nothing here that cannot wait for your return.”

“Are you sure?”

Gwendal nodded, rising from the chair himself and heading for the door. “When will you be back?”

Yuuri looked at the floor nervously. “I’m not sure. I-uh… need some time to work some stuff out. I don’t want to just abandon everything and everyone, though, so I was thinking maybe I’d come back real quick and see how things were, go over some stuff, then go back for a while.”

“Is something wrong?”

The king rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling himself turn slightly red. “No, it’s fine. Sometimes it’s hard enough being a teenager though without also having to worry about a kingdom. I have my own prejudices to work through.”

Gwendal looked at him for a moment but left it at that, holding open the war room door as the two retreated from stacks of necessity.

\----

Murata waited in the courtyard, sitting on the fountain with his glasses catching the glare of the setting sun. Yuuri felt tired and worn out the instant he saw him, the end of many long days finally becoming reality. He dragged himself over, letting out a long sigh as he plopped down on the edge of the fountain with him. It was time to go home.

“You don’t look so good, Shibuya. You’re not getting a cold, are you?” Murata waggled a finger at him. “If you are, Mama will have to buy you thicker socks.”

“I’m not sick. I just feel… weird.”

“Nn. Well, it’s to be expected when you’re lovesick. Nothing ever feels right when you pine for lost love.”

Yuuri put his face in his hands, not sure sometimes what to think of Murata and his old man wisdom and insight. “I’m not even going to ask how you know.”

“Because I can recognize the signs, Shibuya.” Murata smiled at him slightly, brow pinched in pity. “People have waited longer for less. If you’re determined and it’s real, you will both find each other when his term abroad is over.”

“He’s not at University, Murata, he’s married and living in his husband’s castle hundreds of miles away.”

The Sage shrugged, standing to stretch before their whirlpool travel home. “Some things are meant to be.”

There was at least some solace in knowing his feelings for Wolfram made no difference to his closest Earth friend.

Yuuri stepped into the freezing waters of the fountain with Murata beside him, closing his eyes and stretching his powers out towards home. He felt the water swallow him up and let his mind rest, thinking of the tepid bathtub water and the smell of curry on the stove. There was homework to do, shows on the television he was hoping to see, movies coming out, friends…

The water was ice cold and much deeper than the tub. It tasted like salt on his tongue as his lips parted for breath, eyes open to the pitch black of an endless ocean. He scrambled for the surface, legs kicking hard as he spread his arms out, clawing for the waves above. So cold. He felt his head break the surface and gasped, only given enough time for one crucial breath before waves knocked him under again, rolling him over till up and down were as confused as he was. He struggled again to the surface, seeing it only in the reflection of flames that turned the night sky a flickering gold. He broke free with a cough and gasped, kicking as hard as he could though his legs felt numb and useless. He could see the waves come but could not fight them, anticipation only allowing him time to breath deep before being thrown and dragged along like flotsam. He could hear similar splashing close by, hopeful it was Murata, even more hopeful his friend was somewhere else, safe.

“Man overboard!”

Yuuri looked and saw the ship, one of many causing the pull from bellow and thrashing waves. He waved his arms before going under, so cold, so cold, so very, very cold. He kicked but felt the surface sink further away, raked the water with his hands but could not claw his way back to the air. He felt panic squeezing what was left of his last breath from him as he struggled, unwilling to die. But it was so cold, and the surface so far, his limbs so numb and his lungs so empty.

He didn’t fight the arms that wrapped around him nor even think to breathe at first when again the air smacked him hard in the face with frost on the breeze. He wasn’t sure he was alive anymore though he could feel water running from his mouth down his chin and see with his partially opened eyes the flames on the shore. The arms held him tight, pressing in hard around his ribs, and with a gasp he choked on another wave and inhaled the cold night air.

The man holding him dragged them both through the waves on a rope wrapped tight around his arm. “How did you end up here at a time like this, Your Majesty?”

“Y-Yozak!?” Yuuri coughed on his name, wanting to help but feeling too heavy and tired to move.

“Just a little bit longer, Your Majesty. You hang in there or I’ll never hear the end of it from Conrart. You wouldn’t do that to me, now, would you?”

Yuuri shook his head, teeth chattering. He spotted another man not far from them being pulled up by a rope, Murata limply leaning against him in his arms. It put his heart at ease though his mind still reeled.

It felt like forever had passed before they were on the ship’s deck. Like something out of a hentai film his clothes were stripped from him the instant the sailors could get their hands on him, more confusion added to every second of his arrival as towels and blankets were heaved onto him and his body forcibly carried into the captain’s cabin with Murata, Yozak and the unnamed sailor who had jumped in for the sage. There they huddled near the fireplace with mugs of hot drinks. Yuuri’s head still felt fuzzy as he held his cup between his hands. It didn’t feel as though he’d ever be warm again.

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to come,” Yozak chided, draped in no less than five heavy wool blankets.

“I h-haddddddn’t p-p-planned o-on it.”

“I don’t want to hear any more discussion until you’re sufficiently warm. You’re liable to bite your tongues off.” Yuuri looked up at the captain, a stern looking older man who had seen many better years. He sat at his table with a bottle of liquor, wearing a red naval uniform and a grave expression.

Canon fire made Yuuri jump. He tried to rub feeling back into his arms under the layers of wool, looking around the room for some sign that explained what was going on and where he was. He felt weak and dizzy, unfocused and confused. Only part of his brain seemed to recognize the pieces set before him and raced impatiently for him to react, his heartbeat rising with the panic of more canon fire.

The door to the cabin opened quickly, a sailor dipping inside with the cold breeze. He closed the door with just as much haste, standing at attention, face strangely vacant. “Sir, we’re received news from shore.”

“And?”

The sailor looked at the crowd of frozen men but the captain waved him on. “You know who that is? That’s the demon king himself come to watch the carnage from the front lines. Not a damn thing you can’t say in here that he’s not going to find out about eventually.”

The sailor nodded slowly, face a miserable pallor of dread. “Half the city is on fire, sir. Civilian death toll is estimated to be in the hundreds. Maybe thousands.” His breath hitched, tone rising in an effort to remain calm. “Sir… the castle has fallen and the Big Cimarron general has announced himself as appointed dictator of Trebic. We’re being ordered to cease fire and surrender or to turn tail and run.”

The captain threw the bottle liquor against the wall near fireplace, glass raining down in the sparkle of flames. “Did they take the king alive?”

“….No, sir…. He was beheaded.”

“And Prince Alfgeir?”

The sailor’s chin quivered before nerves set it still, anger burning through his gaze. “The entire royal family was massacred, sir.”

Yuuri’s eyes rolled back into his head as the chill brought him to unconsciousness.


	12. Chapter 12

Wolfram’s steel echoed off that of the Big Cimarron soldier’s, candle light flickering off the shine of the sword’s blade. He parried and thrust, catching the armored man off guard before piercing through him with a hard jab to his gut, pulling out quickly to slice at the weak-spot above the chest plate. The soldier fell with a weak gurgle, blood rising from his throat as he struck his knees against the marble tile and slumped lifeless on his side.

There would be more.

Wolfram ran as fast as his legs would carry, tearing down the halls with his sword extended beside him, ready to cut down any who got in his way as he sought his husband in the chaos and commotion. He ran into three more enemy soldiers and gave a loud cry of battle as he charged and swung, remembering the lessons his brother had given him, trying to end it all quickly and leave him the strength to push further on. A lucky strike caught him in the left arm, slicing his flesh with a burning flash of pain. He cut them down with five more slashes, not caring to pause long enough to make sure they were dead in his haste to simply continue un-encumbered.

He found Alfgeir in the company of Sir Bersi Veleif and a small regiment of their own guard, both men wiping blood from their swords with a mixed pile of soldiers in khaki and red laying in motionless heaps on the floor.

“Alfie!”

Alfgeir looked over, relief washing over him as he stepped over and at times on the bodies in his way. “You’re hurt.”

“There’s no time. Your father is dead; you’re king now. We have to get you out of here!” Wolfram did not care that he had said the words without pity or feeling. The time for such sentiments was hours in their future and miles away from a castle surely falling into the enemy’s hands.

Alfgeir wrapped an arm around him quickly, pressing his husband’s forehead to his chest as his bent a kiss to the crown of his head. “We can make a stand here.”

“No!” Wolfram pushed away from him, challenging him with his stare. “Your people are going to need you when this is over! Leave the soldiers to make a stand but think of yourself for once!”

“Sir, there may still be time to retreat. The back gates are not brightly lit, we could escape into the darkness if we hurry.”

The prince-now-king looked between his husband and adviser, breath heavy with the weight of his decision.

Wolfram grabbed his sleeve and pulled. “Now, Alfie!” he ordered, not strong enough to force him but willing enough to try.

Alfgeir nodded at length, pointing towards the doors with his sword. “Men, secure the route to the back gates!”

The soldier’s marched past, spreading out to cover their escape. Screams of death and the clash of metal rang out through the dusk in all directions, beckoning them into the quiet depths of servant passages where the scramble of self preservation had left them empty. Wolfram took the lead, looking around each corner as they advanced, ignoring the steady stream of blood running down his arm.

“Once we reach the back gates we can wait in the forest. There will be civilians in refuge there as well. Seeing you will be the inspiration they need to fight back against these Big Cimarron bastards,” Bersi said, looking behind them as they traveled.

Alfgeir gave a short grunt of approval. “It will take time. But we will persevere.”

“Quiet.” Wolfram peeked around the corner leading into the scullery. A Cimarron soldier stood there, unaware and unbothered by the carnage elsewhere. He picked at plates and eyed goblets. Wolfram pointed his sword forward, creeping up towards him while his party waited.

As Wolfram readied his first strike, four Cimarron soldiers came around through the main entrance, spotting him with shouts as the unaware soldier leapt into defensive action. The mazoku sliced through his arm, whirling around to catch his blade against another opponent’s, holding them off with the strength of his right arm where the left was slick and useless.

The first stab of metal went through his back, the second his stomach. When the third sword ran through the junction of his shoulder and left breast, Wolfram gave an enraged growl, running his attacker through with the strength of his will more so than his body which trembled and bled. He was confused for a moment seeing all the soldiers dead, not remembering more than two of their deaths by his own sword. Alfgeir’s strong arms lifted him up off his shaking legs and cradled him against his chest as they ran from the scene, back gates not so far.

“Don’t leave me now.”

Wolfram let his head rest against his shoulder, hands holding down firm on the fast flow of blood from his own gut.

Outside night was falling, the twinkle of stars above masked by the blaze of flames all around. Bersi gasped at the horror befalling their kingdom as Alfgeir pressed on, the gates within his sights down the long, dark garden path.

There were so many soldiers. Behind the gates, on the castle walls, lining the inner square with swords and arrows ready. In the middle their general stood, sick smile like the twisted grin of a jack-o-lantern. “Leaving so soon?”

Alfeir’s eyes grew thin and narrow. “Whatever it is you think this will achieve, you’re wrong.”

The general smirked, long, thick sword laying across his palm as he approached. “You call that begging for your life? I’m sure even a barbarian like you can do better than that.”

Wolfram tugged on Alfgeir’s beard, leaving streaks of blood against the already red hairs.

The king looked down at him, smiling gently. “I would have loved you.”

“Don’t say goodbye, you idiot.”

Kneeling, Alfgeir laid Wolfram on the ground, as gentle as he knew how to be as the mazoku whimpered through clenched teeth at the pain. He ran his large, rough knuckles against his cheek, brushing bloody bangs from his face. “You made me very happy. Thank you.”

“Alfie…”

The ginger man rose, pulling out his sword and pointing at the Cimarron general. “You made a mistake choosing to fight a man with nothing left to lose.”

The general laughed, planting his sword in the soil. “I don’t think ‘ _fight_ ’ is the word we’re looking for. Try ‘ _slaughter_ ’.”

As Alfgeir charged with his sword, the archers let their arrows fly. Wolfram watched wide eyed as hundreds of arrows dug into the king’s flesh, turning the man into a charging hedgehog. The general’s smile fell as he was forced to lift his sword in defense, the unstoppable rage in the Trebic king too much for mere arrows to stay. The lines of soldiers on the grounds came forward, swords drawn, sliding their blades into every piece of flesh they could. For a moment, it seemed as if even that was not enough. With his blood spilt and body torn, Alfgeir threw himself and his sword forward, aiming for the general’s hollow heart.

He fell to his knees and then to his face as the last push of adrenalin left his body empty, heavy, and lifeless only a foot away from his standing target. With a mighty arc the general’s sword slashed down like a pendulum, severing the king’s head in one great swing. The Big Cimarron army cheered.

Wolfram let his head fall back on the lawn, his own strength running low on reserves, his hope for escape nonexistent, his expectancy for life limited to a few short minutes. The warmth of his blood as it pushed past his fingers to soak the snow covered earth only served to remind him of how cold he felt as he lay weak and dying. So cold. He could see his breath in the air, the wispy threads of his spirit already rising up through his lips to chase the sun. He prayed Shinou would find him some purpose yet to fulfill even in his death, some way to still serve Yuuri who had so much work to do. _Please… don’t let this be the best that I could do…_

He felt the sword rest against his neck and looked up at the general’s face, saw his pleased grin as he wore the blood of kings like medals on his chest, saw the walls of archers and gathering of soldiers, and in a cold like no other finally saw no more.

\----

Yuuri was unfortunately certain that the strange warmth pressed against the back of his left thigh was another man’s penis. Most of his certainty came from the fact that it was a man’s hairy arm draped over him, holding him tight against a man’s furry chest under the weight of many blankets. Despite the flinch of terror in these realizations, Yuuri did not scramble to get away. The cold that had shocked him to the bone was gone, heat radiating through him from the other man’s body like a furnace. He felt safe and comfortable even as his mind was on red alert. It didn’t matter that he was spooning against some naked sailor on a ship hundreds of miles from his castle and immeasurable distances from his home on Earth. He was finally warm again with thoughts far more uncomfortable than a stranger’s cock.

Wolfram was in trouble. Wolfram needed him. Wolfram was probably… Even in his thoughts, he could not bring himself to say it. It was a lie, a falsehood, a misconception, a fallacy. Something was certainly wrong but not so hopeless as that. It was an assertion based on feeling, a clarity of mind he only experienced in troubled times. If was a feeling he knew he had to trust and gave him strength to wake up beyond the use of simple senses.

Yuuri could hear voices. Craning his neck, he could see over the tops of the blankets at the swaying lantern hanging from a post in the ceiling. He recognized the fireplace’s mantle and the array of windows on the wall; he was still in the captain’s chambers. Through the windows the stars were still out, sky a rust purple on the slow rising dawn. He could make out Yozak’s voice among those speaking, the captain’s gruff growl of anger and someone else he hadn’t met. In the window he could see only the ghost of their reflections, four fuzzy shapes around a table below his blanket line of sight.

“—fires out. Not that it makes much of a difference now. Most people either died when they started or escaped into the woods to get away. Reports list the lesser Big Cimarron ships returning home with their wounded.”

“I’ve sent word to Blood Pledge Castle. Lord Voltaire will be sending relief as soon as he can.”

“And in the mean time, what? They’re occupying the city! They’ve scuttled the limping ships and that includes two of the Shin Makoku war ships. We’re down to almost nothing! Why hasn’t _he_ done anything?!”

“The demon king is limited in his abilities in human territories. However, not even that may be enough to dissuade Shibuya when he hears.”

Yuuri closed his eyes with a thankful breath. Murata was doing well, it seemed.

“You’re sure he’s dead?”

“There are not many who would be confused for him here.”

A long, tired sigh. “Poor kid…”

“While our king does not condone acts of vengeance, as far as justice is concerned, Big Cimarron will not go unpunished. Shibuya will not abandon Trebic.”

“I certainly hope not. Your king is the reason we’re stuck wading in these waters rather than continuing the fight! What are you people doing out here like this in the first place?!”

 _He was calling me_ , Yuuri thought, the peace in his warmth and stillness letting his mind drift back to a tucked away place that reminded him of Julia. _He’s still here._ With heavy limbs he pushed the blanket down, sheepishly rolling himself a few inches away from the sleeping, naked man in bed beside him.

Yozak gave him a tired smile from his counter perch. “Pink suits you much better than blue.”

Yuuri nodded, wrapping one of the top blankets around his shoulders as he sat up. “Sorry to be an inconvenience. We can return to the battle at once.”

“Shibuya.” Murata shook his head slowly. “We should wait for Lord Voltaire and reinforcements. We will only complicate matters and put you in danger if we return to the battle right now.”

“I have to go, Murata. Wolfram’s waiting for me.”

“I’m sure he is, kid, but not where you think.” Yozak stood and carried over a short stack of folded clothes, the borrowed uniform of a Trebic sailor from the ships supplies. “Listen… about Wolfram-“

“He’s not dead.” Yuuri took a deep, determined breath as he met Yozak’s bright blue and cynical stare. “I know what you’re going to tell me but it’s not true. I felt him when we were going to Earth; he’s the reason we’re here.”

Murata angled his face away, his serious expression far away and troubled.

Yuuri left the clothes on the bed and stood, walking over to his friend with the blanket clutched tight at his chest. “You felt him too, right?”

The Great Sage said nothing, lips pursed in deep concentration.

“Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” The captain banged his fist on the table. “I don’t care about any of this mazoku mumbo jumbo. Are we waiting here or are we sailing back to Trebic?”

“We’re going back!” Yuuri proclaimed.

“On foot,” Murata stipulated. He rose from his seat, adjusting his glasses. “We’re too big to sneak in and the woods are currently the hideout for refugees. We come in across the land and try and gather as much local help as we can. When Lord Voltaire arrives, we can attack them from both angles in an organized offensive.”

Yozak rubbed his chin. “I don’t think that will be too much of a problem for anyone. Captain?”

“I’m a man of the sea but I’ll take what action I can get against those soulless bastards.” He marched to the door, pulling the nearest sailor aside to bark his orders to. It seemed no time at all before the almost empty decks became alive again with shipmen, ropes heaved and rudders hoed as she came about face for more familiar shores.

Yuuri sat back on the borrowed bed, hand petting the red uniform he was soon to wear. He smiled at Murata whose face was still set like stone. “You felt it too, right, Murata?”

The sage shook his head, his calm and cool making Yuuri worry. “What I felt was you lose your way. You were distracted and then we were drowning.”

“It was him, Murata. I don’t know how but I just know it was him.”

Murata crossed to the windows with the dawn stretching out from shore. Disagreeing was something Yuuri could combat but his quiet, reflective manner left the king wondering what all he wasn’t being told that the young man knew.

A warm hand gave his back a pat but sent shivers down Yuuri’s spine despite its warmth. “I believe you,” the naked stranger said.

Somehow his words weren’t nearly as reassuring as he’d hoped they’d be.


	13. Chapter 13

Murata missed his galoshes. Wading through several feet of snow, wet halfway up his legs, his usual traveling shoes were proving to be rather insufficient for the journey inland. It had been his luck to not find a single pair of boots on the ship which fit, happy at least to have found a heavy coat which was only three sizes greater than his girth. With only the thick material of the Trebic uniform and his own sneakers, Murata was numb from the cold damp from the knees down. Galoshes would have been wonderful. He tried to walk in the already tred patches in their path but the mud below caked on to his soles. Sighing he took his glasses off and rubbed the fog away on his shirt, finding much about his current affairs to be more bothersome than not.

Yozak walked beside him, hanging back where he could watch their king who, with dozens of sailors at his command, was safe enough for him. "Well, I have to admit that this isn't how I pictured things going. Especially not the part where you and his majesty half drown at sea."

Murata nodded, placing his glasses back on his face. "It was unexpected on all our parts. I wish I knew what Shinou was up to."

"I thought he lost his--Oh, forget I asked. I've got more important things to do than track the maryoku levels of the original king." Yozak flexed his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the heavy sack he carried. "Just tell me what it means for us out here."

"I don't know yet," The sage admitted. In general, he did not like being left in the dark. Shinou had always enjoyed his little pranks and secrets but this did not feel like one of those times. The situation was too dire for it to be random but far too sudden for it to be planned. Whichever it was, he was far too distant to inquire. Rather than worry over the things he did not know, Murata preferred to focus on the things he did. "We're going to have to very careful around Shibuya for now."

Yozak nodded, sighing softly. "Kid really thinks he's still alive, huh?"

"He thinks Lord Prince Bielefeld Havard is responsible for our being here. That he heard him and that is what made us change direction."

"Not Shinou?"

Murata shook his head. "Only the three of us have that ability and it requires all three. For something or someone to interfere would take a great deal."

The spy held up a low laying branch for Murata to walk under. The forests were dense and their path wide but the snow had made many limbs heavy and obtrusive. Murata ducked and continued on, stepping over logs and boulders, not caring too much to take in the countryside as much as he wished for dry feet.

"The kid's strong. He can take it once he accepts it."

Of that Murata had no doubt. He'd seen his friend in the aftermath of Conrad's supposed death and he had risen through that to great success. Over the months Yuuri had already grown accustomed to Wolfram's absence. Unfortunately, he had also gained an acceptance of his own feelings. That part Murata did not have a right to share with the spy, however, and that was the part that made him most concerned. "Until he does accept it, we will have to keep him from doing anything foolish. I'm worried he will try and use his powers. I think we can just about guarantee that, in fact. Fueled by grief or anger, we must both make sure he does not get carried away."

"Yeah, I hear you. I'll be on guard. My Captain won't exactly accept anything less from me." Yozak shifted the weight of his sack again. "This is going to mean war, you know. Trebic's people are a bit on the aggressive side when it comes to maritime rights but this had nothing to do with who's trespassing on whose waters. This was just outright hate. Big Cimarron just couldn't accept a human-mazoku alliance."

Murata's glasses were already clouded again but he made no move to wipe them. Even without sight, he knew exactly where they were all headed.

\---

He could not open his eyes, he could not move, he could not speak. The list of things Wolfram could not do felt limitless in their limitations, all functions of life having faded in the night with three sharp stabs through his flesh. He wasn't even sure he could hear his own heart beating as he lay in the cold of frozen blood and snow. He felt sure he wasn't breathing. He was also quite sure, however, that he was not yet dead. He could feel against his body every trickle of ice turned water as it rolled along his skin or spread out over his already wet clothes to further soak him. He could tell his toes from his ankles in the way they throbbed with different sorts of discomfort and his fingers from his elbows in the stiffness of his joints. He could hear the wind playing in the garden, tickling through the branches of the evergreens and flirting through his hair. Sometimes he could hear the marching steps of guardsmen on their rounds or the distant hum of speech from an open window. He feared the caw of the crows. He was aware of the world through only touch and sound but by Shinou's grace he was not yet dead. With the sun's light warming him less than the ice chilled, and with no other options, Wolfram remained among the elements with only faith in the original king to fend off despair.

The crunch of compacting snow told of soldiers nearby. Wolfram listened closely, the only thing he could do. It was more than one man but how many more was hard to discern with the odd patterned footfalls. The steps grew closer but did not approach him.

"Should just build a pyre out here and be done with it. There's no way I can carry that guy," said a voice, pitched higher with youth.

"I don't think anyone cares how we dispose of him so long as it's dealt with." An older man, gruff and stuffy, coming down with a cold.

Foot steps circled, just one pair. "What a beast," the young one commented with a whistle. "Just look at all these arrows. There's almost enough tinder here to just light him up where he fell."

"Throw a few logs around just to be on the safe side."

"What about the other one?"

Wolfram felt a rush of excitement, both terrible and desperate. He willed his heart to beat and his lungs to expand but felt nothing but stillness. Life refused to show.

The snow crunched as the men approached. He felt their shadows on his skin, the sunlight pushed away for their stare.

"A mazoku like him doesn't deserve any kind of rites. Just throw him to the dogs or have the cook chop him up for the horses."

The younger man chuckled. "Should we at least spare the pretty face? I'm sure the general will want to send something back to the demon king."

 _Fight. Run_. Wolfram's instincts were screaming at him but his body would not listen. It stayed still as death, carefree and vulnerable on the snowy earth. A man's rough hands moved his bangs from his face, almost gentle but sinister in a way Wolfram could not flinch from.

"Disgusting, isn't it? The symbols of a human royal house on one of these creatures. I can't believe these idiots actually bowed to this thing. Trebic got what it deserved. How can they even call themselves human with _this_ in their ruling family."

A cruel chuckle. "Get that shit off him. He doesn't deserve to wear it."

Wolfram felt the rough hands undress him, their warm touch hot like fire against his skin as they pulled and ripped apart the vesture he'd been given.He burned with rage and indignity but could not change his pallor. Despite his mental cries his body was limp and pliable, allowing them to remove his clothes and his dignity even in the guise of death.

The young man paused as he yanked his jacket from his shoulders. "What the hell is this?" There was fear and awe in his voice. Wolfram felt his hands run across the unbroken skin of his chest and shoulder, the buttons ripping apart to expose his stomach to the cold.

"What kind of sorcery...Let's burn him quick. Don't say a word to anyone."

"Aye...."

One man grabbed his foot, no longer caring about whose boots he wore as he dragged him along the ground. He was going to burn to death if he did not wake up. His skin would melt, his hair fizz out like millions of fuse lines to his scalp, bones char and his insides boil. Saved from an easy death which had ended in sleep just to die again in excruciating pain. Had he the resources, Wolfram would have sobbed. Not a long, drawn out moan but a whimper, a gasp of futility at the hands of a cruel fate. He did not want to die. He didn't want to be dead. He was not done yet. Surely Shinou had agreed if he was aware as he was now. But perhaps it was his own stubbornness which kept him locked inside a body that could still experience pain and fear.

They heaved him against the splintered backs of arrows, the notches digging in to his side; Alfgeir's body. Wolfram wondered if perhaps he too was stuck in an immortal death until memory remind him of the head which had rolled across the garden path. His Alfie. Even if there had been no love, he had been fond of the man. Another lesson Yuuri had taught him: there are different kinds of love. Patriotism, filial and fraternal love were things he had known already. Love of a friend and love of the goodness in everyone were the wimpy concepts of their Earth king. Alfie had been a good man and would have made a good king. He would not have regretted sharing his lifetime save for the absence he took from his own life on hold in Shin Makoku.

Thinking of his homeland made his chest ache. He'd never see his mother or brothers again. Never read Greta another one of the terrible storybooks Yuuri picked out. Never exist in Yuuri's presence again with all the delight and pain that came with it.

That was more intolerable than a death from the gnawing jaws of flames.

He felt the wood pitch over him in a short, makeshift pyre. He heard the flint strike steel several times. He heard the crackle of the first bite, wood dry enough to spark. He felt the rubber of his boots grow warmer, smelled the timber and the stench of burning flesh, felt the warmth that was spreading up and in, boots now painful and his leg hairs curling in the heat.

 _Elements of fire, obey this proud mazoku..._

His eyes opened and saw sky and crossed timbers. His mouth opened in a deep gasp of smoke and crisp winter air. His heart thundered for every skipped beat and drummed in his head till his mind was deaf. He kicked out with his melting boot and struck the boards away, soldier's screaming. He pulled himself out into the muddied slush, crawling on his elbows as his knees slowly caught up beneath him. He knelt several feet away from a blaze that soon picked up, the putrid smell of burning king rising up into the air on the belly of smoke.

A shaking sword pointed at him, young soldier holding it out from several feet away, confusion and horror written in his face.

Wolfram smiled. "If death didn't stop me, what makes you think you can?" he taunted, wanting nothing more than the strength to stand and fight.

From the back gates came the loud but slow, steady clap of gloved hands as the general approached with a wave of retainers. His delicate but harsh face was one Wolfram was sure he would not forget, its cold sneer as he'd killed Alfgeir engraved into his memory.

"Well, I see you mazoku are certainly full of surprises."

Wolfram glared, testing his legs but finding they could not yet hold him. The general's retainers circled him, swords drawn at all angles leaving only the burning corpse and the general in his sights.

"Take him inside," the general ordered, his sneer just as cold as the night before. "He may prove useful."


	14. Chapter 14

The first gathering of refugees they came across was luckily too tired and desperate after a couple days' impromptu survival training to notice the double-black features of two of the forty sailors just arrived from the forest trails. So scared and in shock were they that Yuuri wasn't sure they would have minded if a whole regiment of mazoku arrived--anything so long as they were not of Big Cimarron. They were still in the process of making shelters, patches of earth visible where the snow had been gathered for the making of just a handful of small, cramped structures. Children with hands burned red from the cold and bits of flesh singed from the fires helped the adults with the vital tasks while other aged men and women took sharp rocks to sticks to fashion tools. There was a line of clothes hanging to dry but no bodies missing in attire. A pit of naked corpses on the outlying parts of the clearing explained that oddity very quickly. Yuuri stood frozen for a moment as he looked down in the tangled pink mess of more burns and frostbite. Necessity was cruel.

The sailors were quick to get to work, hatchets and rope that had been carried from the ship dispersed to the able who went off into the woods now equipped for the hunt. New, warmer bodies replaced those of the wounded in the efforts to pack in snow blocks for shelter, gloved hands not nearly as affected by the task. Wearily the survivors stood back and huddled together at the campfires, many lent overcoats and jackets to regain some warmth in their numb bodies. Yuuri took handfuls of snow and pressed them firmly together, making brick after snowy brick while the sunlight held out above. Murata took to task beside him, Yozak long gone with the hunting party.

In the daylight there had been no time for speech outside orders. They worked in the quiet, most vacant stares showing minds gone off miles from the camp. It was not until nightfall when the campfires were brightest with the day's kill roasting over the open flames that it seemed okay to have a voice. People spoke amongst themselves on the day's good work, on tomorrow's endeavors, on Big Cimarron's evil and--most ironically--Shin Makoku's part in their futures. Yuuri's ears perked at the mention of his kingdom, attention drawn immediately to the group of men running sharp stones over the backs of the hide they'd skinned from the roasted beast.

"They'd have left us alone if the king hadn't made a bargain with those demon folk. Wasn't even a need for that! We were winning s'far as I can see it. Bigger boats don't make for a more fierce navy. Shin Makoku would have left our waters alone and Big Cimarron would have continued to ignore us." He was a larger man, stocky with red hair and a beard like most of the Trebic men Yuuri had met. In hindsight, the only beardless faces Yuuri had seen were the children and most of the women though shockingly not all.

The group of men nodded to the first's words, muttering approval. "I don't care if Big Cimarron are a load of human supremacists. They never bothered us before and I liked it better that way."

"Just look at the mess we're faced with now. We're in this because of Shin Makoku so where are they now? It'll take near a week for them to get here! By then those bastards will be all settled in nicely with fresh reinforcements. And whose going to suffer all the more for it? Them? No, we are!"

Yuuri bit his bottom lip and started to approach but felt Murata's hand take his arm, looked over his shoulder to see him shake his head to stay his action. The men around their hides had noticed, though, and the youngest and broadest of them jerked his chin in their direction.

"Looks like we've got a couple mazoku here already. You lads, you going to fly home and tell your king to join us?"

Murata's hand tightened on Yuuri's arm but the message, though understood, went ignored. Yuuri smiled just slightly to the group, "I am the Demon King. Please call me Yuuri."

The men laughed, knees slapped and jaws dropped low for the roar. Yuuri was sure he could see every tooth in their mouths as they pointed to him with amusement. "You hear that? This baby-faced pack of twigs says he's the great demon king!"

The chuckle spread slowly but stopped at the sailors. The ship's captain sighed as he came around behind the mazoku. "He's what he says he is, I'm sure of it. Like the Leviathan itself, these two rose up from the depths of the ocean in the middle of the battle and I swear to you there was no ship which bore them there but the ocean herself. What you have here is the great Demon King and his Great Sage with the whole of their armada now racing to Trebic to aid them. What say you to that?"

The men quieted and stared. Yuuri continued to smile, nervousness tinged with misery. He was disappointed in himself. For months Trebic had amounted to only one things to him: Prince Alfgeir Havard. Even when meetings with Bersi and agreeing to supply ships, it had been ships for Alfgeir, not for the hundreds of thousands of people who lived with their choices. These were the lives that could have just as easily been lost in the naval battles between Shin Makoku and Trebic many months before, the lives Wolfram left to protect. In his own willfulness Yuuri had forgotten about the common people who needed their kings to make wise and selfless decisions. He wanted to apologize but knew he needed to look stronger than that. He represented the hope for help that the refugees were desperate for.

He stepped closer, arms open in a gesture of peace. "I'm very sorry you feel our alliance is responsible for the evils you've had to witness. It's hard to be a good example when their are bullies as strong as Big Cimarron around to try and enforce their ideals. But no matter how many ships they bring, how many men, or swords or canons, Shin Makoku will not abandon you. Because we're friends. And I never abandon my friends. Never." He felt warmed by his own determination and relaxed under their stares. "We'll show King Lanzhil that he can't change our hearts just by trying to beat us down. Trebic and Shin Makoku are united by friendship and nothing is stronger. I promise you that I will do everything I can to help you, starting with getting your kingdom back."

An older man with a greying beard scoffed. "The entire royal family was murdered. Who exactly is going to rule over us? You?"

Yuuri shook his head. The last thing he wanted was an empire. "No, you should have someone who knows your country and people. I'm sure there's someone still alive. How do you know they were all killed?"

"Couple folks who worked near the castle saw it well enough. The king, his sons, all of them." The man looked grave as he stroked his beard. "There's another camp not too far from here. New arrival yesterday: Sir Bersi Veleif himself. Said he saw it all. I didn't stay to listen to the grisly details. They're all dead; that's all I care to know."

"Bersi?" Yuuri blinked in surprise and looked around at the ghostly faces lit by firelight. "Was it just him? How close is the next camp? I need to speak to him."

A younger man with his beard still short and patchy eyed Yuuri with uncertainty. "You want to know what happened to him, aye? The Lord Prince. That's what you're really here for, isn't it."

That was partially true, enough so that it made the young king burn with further disgust at his own actions. Yuuri frowned, firsts clenched at his sides. "I have an investment in his well being. I do for all of you as the Demon King of Shin Makoku but just like every other person I do have personal worries unconnected to my position. He's family. I need to know he's okay."

"Then I'm sorry to disappoint you. The Lord Prince Wolfram fell beside Prince Alfgeir on the night of the siege." The younger man looked at his elder. "I _did_ stay for the grisly details. Sir Veleif said he was stabbed three times in the struggle to escape the castle and finally bled out in the garden when they were ambushed at the back gates. It was there that Prince Alfgeir made his final stand against a whole regiment of archers and swordsmen and very nearly killed the general before he too succumbed to his wounds. They both died bravely."

Yuuri's mouth felt parched and heart beat out of sync. "Y-you're sure that's what he said? Maybe Wolfram passed out from exertion or-"

"He was stabbed in the back, in the shoulder, and in the stomach. He said he was bleeding so much that Prince Alfgeir had to carry him the rest of the way. They were mortal wounds sustained in the line of duty. Say what you like about the alliance," he told the older men, "but Lord Prince Wolfram served us all well. I don't doubt Shin Makoku will do the same for us now."

The fire crackled in the quiet as old men nodded. Yuuri felt his resolve slipping and forced a smile. It wasn't true. Whatever Bersi thought he had seen, it wasn't the case. All Yuuri could know for sure was that Wolfram needed him move than ever. He was hurt somewhere. Maybe even dying but certainly not dead and not beyond the point of which no help would save him. Yuuri was going to find him and he was going to bring him home alive. "Whatever the truth may be, we need to all stay hopeful," he advised, fighting mental images still clawing at his composure. Wolfram fighting, struggling, bleeding, dying... "Tomorrow we'll meet with the other camp. We'll need as many people working together as we can to take back Trebic."

The men gave a cheer of agreement, the faces around the campfires already reflecting some of the hope for the future Yuuri wanted so desperately to impart on the suffering civilians.

Murata watched in silence, eyes masked by the firelight.

\---

Wolfram gagged on the constant flow of liquor, choking on the painful gemstone being shoved down his throat. Fingers kept his jaws pried open while others held down his tongue, the alcohol continually flowing to lubricate the gemstone that he would not swallow. Hands kept his legs and arms held down firmly to the ground, head held steady so he could not shake them loose. It had to have been taking over five men just to get him still. The muscles of his throat were all he had left to his defense against their force feeding and he could feel the vomit rising in his throat as they tried to push the gemstone past even that.

His naked body was covered in scratches and bruises from hours of fighting, first for his dignity and suddenly for his sanity. Dark purple-black spots from the toes of boots covered his back and ribs, hand prints in lavender over his arms and shoulders. His knees and thighs were scrapped from being dragged along the cobblestone. At that point the green gemstone had been close, ominously glowing and frightening in its proximity even halfway across the room. That pain and weakness had been nothing compared to the constant stabbing agony as he tried to keep it out of his body. It was a losing battle, even his conscious mind was very aware of that, but the thought of swallowing houseki was a far worse torture than he could lend himself to without even a futile fight.

Liquor burned his nose as it splashed and poured past his lips. He gagged, choked, breathed in more of the burning liquid and somehow, somewhere, lost the fight as the gemstone slipped down into the pit of his stomach, emanating a steady stream of misery from which he could not escape. His brow was covered in sweat, his body drizzled in liquor. The hands let go, his body laying unbound for the first time in over a day, but he could not move much more than his face as he turned to vomit across his pillow, bile and booze but no relief from the vile gemstone.

"Well, that took the fight out of him."

Wolfram hated that he could not rise up and show them just how much fight he had left in him.

A bucket of freezing water emptied over him in one giant wave, the shock of it almost enough to pull his mind away from the continuous torment which sent his senses screaming. Rough hands raked rough towels over him, scrapping away the water more than drying it off, yanking his placid form into its desired shapes and positions till he was seated by their strength, arms up to be dressed. It was a hideous sight: light pink silk cut far too short with lace of paisley and vines. He only wore pink for Yuuri. He tried to protest but found his tongue too numb to bark insults and his body still cringing from the houseki, obeying nothing but the pain as even tears found their ways into his eyes. Through the pain he could ignore the groping of the soldier's hands as they dressed him in suitably unsuitable underwear, remain almost unaware of the laughing and petting as the focus of all sensation was derailed to the gemstone lodged within his own body. With blurry eyes he could see more than feel the gold ring placed on his left hand. Nothing made sense anymore; there was only agony.

He was carried, too weak to even raise his head as was watched bricks and tapestries go by upside down. He knew this corridor. He knew most of his home well but this walkway more than others. It lead to his and Alfgeir's shared room. Inside the double doors were their clean quarters, nightstand and dresser still covered in their things from Wolfram's hairbrush to Alfgeir's glass of water. There the general stood, cruel smirk parting his plain face. In a terrible way he reminded Wolfram of his brother Conrart in appearance, double-brown and unremarkable but more aged and sinister with his smiles. The ranking man stood aside as his men laid the mazoku on the familiar bed left cold in the absence of its owners.

"Well done. He looks positively anguished. And quite.... presentable."

Wolfram grit his teeth, trying to sit up or slide his legs closer together but finding his muscles more apt to tremble and seize with the effort.

"Anything else, Sir?"

"That will be all. Make sure to keep an eye on the horizon. I want to know the instant we get so much as a hint of Shin Makoku's forces."

"Aye, General."

The heavy doors pulled shut. Wolfram did not need to hear the sadistic chuckle or see the sly grin to know what came next. It didn't make him hate him any more than he already did. This was the man who had murdered his husband and demolished half the capital city. There were few crimes he could commit that would outweigh that.

"I have often wondered just what it is about houseki that makes it so effective against your kind. I had brought it to use against you but it had not occurred to me that it would be used quite like this." He sat on the side of the bed, hand running up the inside of Wolfram's thigh. "I don't mind that you're not a virgin on our wedding night--farce that it is--but I am somewhat disappointed that you're so still. I was hoping to have to rein you in and fight you the whole way."

Wolfram turned his head, looking down at his left hand where the gold band had been slipped. Even without the pain muddying his thoughts, he was sure it wouldn't have made sense why of all people a Big Cimarron general would conceive himself a mazoku's partner. He felt the hand slide up through the edges of his panty's, roughly running low to probe him harshly, finger scraping intentionally and jabbing hard to coax a response. Wolfram could at least deny him that. Centered on the houseki, nothing else mattered, nothing else felt. He could perceive the general's presence as a nuisance to be tolerated for his five minutes of cheap pleasure.

Escaping the general and the houseki, Wolfram let his mind fall back, eyes blacking out into memory.

It was his wedding night. The ship rocked on ocean waters, the jeers from the crew were good natured but crass, the bed was big but still somehow too small. Kissing Algeir was like kissing the backside of a hedgehog--or so he imagined. The coarse hairs of his beard and mustache scratched his upper lip and tickled his nose. It was unpleasant and foreign.

Alfgeir's hands were large against his body, fingers too thick and somewhat clumsy with the buttons of his shirt. His chuckle was felt against his skin, the weight of his body trapping him against the bed, the heat coming off him making him sweat even as his uniform was slowly removed. He was terrified and trying not to show it. All the times he'd imagined such an act it had been with Yuuri, someone comparable to him in size and experience, his equal or complimentary half in everything. Alfgeir was not Yuuri, could not be imagined to be him with any amount of determination. He was also his true husband, as Yuuri had never been and perhaps never would be. If the marriage had been the sentencing, this final act was the execution.

"You're trembling."

"I-I'm not." He cursed his stammering, forcing his fingers to tighten around the cloth of Alfgeir's jacket and push it down his shoulders. "Let's just hurry up and get this over with."

Alfgeir sat up, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it aside, pulling upon his own shirt to reveal his bear of a chest, unsurprisingly covered in more red hairs. Wolfram looked away, scarlet coloring his cheeks.

The larger man chuckled gently and caressed his bruised cheek with more care than Wolfram thought him capable of. "We don't have to, you know. We could just lie and tell them it's been consummated. No one would know but us."

Wolfram sat up on his elbows in surprise, shirt half open and falling off one shoulder. "What happens if we do that?"

"Nothing." Alfeir smiled. "We return to Trebic as a married couple but you are free to chose your lovers out of preference rather than obligation. We were both chosen by those we must obey to enter into this agreement. How we conduct ourselves outside the pretense of marriage is up to us."

Wolfram eyed him for some hidden agenda but could not read anything in to his light hearted smile. Alfgeir gently pulled the fallen shoulder of Wolfram's shirt back up against his neck, right nipple concealed again behind the ruffled white. He leaned a kiss against his forehead as his weight slowly lifted up from him. He was stayed by Wolfram's hand against his wrist, eyes averted in embarrassment.

"Do you not find me attractive?"

Alfgeir roared with laughter, jovial and gay. "My pet, I do not offer you an escape based on a lack of desire. I could prove to you quite easily that that is not the case."

Wolfram blushed, eyes downcast. "Then you have a lover in Trebic you do not wish to end things with."

"No, there's no one. Some boys in my youth and many women in my current years but no one I would prefer over you." He leaned back over him, weight again pressing down on Wolfram like an oppressive force. "I know you were engaged before this, though. You still love him, yes? You would want to be with him, not me."

Slowly, almost painfully, Wolfram brought his arms up around Alfgeir's neck, holding himself close even as his heart screamed to run, to take the out. "I... can't ask you to live the rest of your life celibate any more than I can tolerate being cheated on. I won't accept it. In which case... I will serve you as your husband if you will respect me as such."

Alfgeir kissed him, scratchy beard not quite as intolerable but still unpleasant. "I have nothing but the utmost respect for any man who holds to his convictions."

"You're just happy I'm going to allow you to touch me with that thing. Shut up and get it over with."

The ginger man chuckled, hand re-exposing and thumb running over the pink nub of his right nipple. Wolfram's breath hitched, body sensitive from a lack of experience, every touch and response a surprise. "Forgive me if I take a bit more time than that. I want you to have enjoyed this even if the circumstances were less than ideal."

"I-idiot..." Wolfram trembled for a different reason, his body growing warm as Alfgeir's large hands embraced him, feeling out places on his body he'd never thought could electrify him the way they did under his ministrations.

It should have been Yuuri. It should have been bumbling and awkward, almost accidental and then built on by passion. Yuuri would never have touched with skill and knowledge or shamelessly licked and kissed from his nipples to his belly button with thick fingers caught on a pant's buckle. Wolfram _was_ enjoying it and it made him want to be sick. It was so different from everything that would have been Yuuri and yet his pulse was racing and body responding in all the ways a body should. It was only his heart that quivered in trepidation and urged him to turn back while he was still in some ways innocent. His useless pride which demanded fidelity was all that kept his mind at ease as Alfgeir pulled his pants from him and undid the black lacing of his underwear.

Wolfram's mind jolted to the present with a wordless gasp, head banging hard against the headboard and thighs spread wide around the general's hips. Fingernails dug dully into his skin as they rocked, the disgusting sound of each thrust made more sickening with each slap the man's swinging balls made against his ass. He wanted to vomit but could feel nothing but the burning core of houseki in his gut. The pink scrap of lace was pushed up to his collar bones, his weight steadied on his shoulders as he watched as though from outside himself as the general plowed into him with none of the care or consideration as had been shown him on his first wedding night.

The general's obscene faces were ugly and vile as were the animalistic grunts he uttered like some beast in heat. He spoke to himself in a mantra of self congratulations: "Yeah... oh, yeah... yeah.. that's it." Wolfram wondered if he needed to pat himself on the back at his age just for keeping it up.

His head smashed into the headboard again, filling his vision with stars.

"Are you ready?"

The ship's rocking motion made it hard for Wolfram to tell it if was just his own head spinning or the world. His eyes were still out of focus from his first orgasm, droplets of his sin sitting along the whiskered lips of his husband. He could feel his fingers inside him, a dull ache emanating from their intrusion but nothing unbearable and at times even pleasurable when curled digits stroked against something new. He nodded his head in consent, relieved that it would soon be over even as his body rose back into action under slow and steady strokes.

Alfgeir shifted, removing his fingers slowly as he took the bottle of lubricant from it's perch on the bedside table and poured it liberally over his pulsing erection. It wasn't length that made Wolfram wince in dread but girth. He was fairly certain it was not going to fit, regardless of preparation, and Alfgeir's warm chuckle only served to make him more wary.

"Don't worry. We'll take it slow."

"Slow is just drawing it out. Just... get it in and get it over with."

"It's a little different from pulling out a thorn. Just relax." Alfgeir leaned over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he rounded out Wolfram's spine, angling his hips to more suitably take him face to face.

Wolfram felt the warmth and pressure of his initial push and cried out in a breathy gasp at the strength of his own body's resistance. He could feel Alfgeir's hands on his hips angling him just slightly more up or down as he tested new angles, steady with his forward push until the tight ring of Wolfram's muscle could no longer withstand him. He felt the head nearly leap inside of him as pressure held even with resistance broken. It felt huge and hot, painful like a bee's sting and just as persistent. With the next careful plunge the pain fluttered out in a spark of excitement, his mouth opening in a moan. He rose his arms over his face, concealing his shameful, wanton expression as his husband's cock caught him in that pleasurable spot. With a chuckle, Alfgeir rocked those few inches in and out, testing Wolfram's responses which were foreign and impossible for him to contain. "A-Alfie!" he called again, not the first time that night and it seemed not the last. He never quite knew how the sentence was suppose to end. Alfie stop? Alfie more? It didn't matter.

He breathed in heavy pantings. Gripping the pillow behind his head, Wolfram dared to peek out at Alfgeir's own face caught between pleasure and restraint. He wanted to tell him it was okay, to forget about pleasing him for once and to finish the act with his own well deserved release. It was hard to put into words, harder still to conceptualize when all the while his heart was screaming ' _cheater!_ '. He grabbed Alfgeir's shoulders and moved with him, taking him in more when he seemed ready to stop. Alfgeir tested and Wolfram accepted until all of him was wrapped inside of his warmth, the scratch of his pubic hair not unlike that of his beard.

"Wolfram..."

Hearing his name uttered in such a voice ran a chill down his spine even as he pulled himself against his thrust, meeting him halfway with a moan. Alfgeir's hands remained firm but gentle as they anchored against him, the slow pounding of flesh on flesh building in speed and intensity. He hit the mark less often but still other sensations kept Wolfram's senses on fire, tension storing in his loins with every jolt of pleasure he received. He liked the way Alfgeir let him cum first, the way he didn't drag on long after him even if he did bury his load deep inside him. He liked the way he fell to the bed beside him but gave him a few minutes to breathe and cool down before pulling him in close to the furnace that was his body. He liked the way he said nothing--just breathed.

"You're crying."

Wolfram bit his bottom lip, fearful of an unwanted sob. "Ignore it. It has nothing to do with you."

Alfgeir kissed his head, arms tight around him as the air cooled their sweat slick bodies. "Thank you, dear husband," he said, voice low and gruff. "I will do my best to be worthy of you."

Wolfram clung tight to him, a man who was more than he could have hoped for and yet nothing he had dreamed of. It was not the last time he cried but there were other memories that ended in nothing short of satisfaction--untainted by childish fantasy of a love not returned. Alfgeir was predictable and dependable, never disappearing for another world or leaving him alone with all the responsibilities he'd abandoned. It would have been so much easier to have had a heart that knew how to fall in love with more than one man or at least how to move on past a love that would never be. But then, that kiss...

The general came after a few more thrusts, leaving his mess of perversion inside him. Wolfram adjusted his fuzzy stare to glare into him, focusing though the pain as best he could to be sure the human knew exactly what he would say if the houseki had not ripped his strength from him so completely. He would kill the man for every good thing he had stolen from the world. If there was any true justice to be had, he too would be as blessed as Wolfram to have a second life through which to be tortured through.


	15. Chapter 15

There was nothing quite like Conrad's smile to make everything seem brighter, especially over a thousand miles away from where it was supposed to be. Yuuri wasn't sure why it still amazed him when the soldier managed to rise to the occasion and be exactly where he was needed to be. It was the magic of the half-breed, a sort of mystical dependability. Yuuri had been glad to see him many times before but watching him emerge from the darkness of the forest around the refugee camp, cloaked in tandem with Gunter, gave the king a boost to his spirits he hadn't been prepared for. It started as a laugh as he ran to greet them but was soon much more weary, his body so very ready to be relieved of the heavy burden it carried, wanting to share the weight of it among the capable backs of his friends and retainers.

Gunter flew at Yuuri, arms open as he scooped him into an hysteric embrace, "Your Majesty!" he cried, checking him over like a creepy uncle, hands roaming and pressing in to his body for wounds under the thick, warm uniform he wore. Yuuri sighed and patted the swordsman on the back.

"I'm fine, Gunter. Really."

"Oh, Your Majesty, getting pulled from the transitive waves by the strength of your own passion for peace and justice is a truly inspiring feat. Must you always go where I cannot so easily follow? If anything happened to you-"

"Gunter, please," Yuuri felt himself growing red, sure there was a small crowd gathering behind him to investigate the new arrivals. "Murata and I are both fine, thanks to Yozak and the other sailors on the ship we came up by. How did you get here so fast? Are the others here too?"

Conrad shook his head, pulling back the hood of his cloak. "We took the express," he explained, hand falling to his lower back with a wince to further illustrate the lasting discomfort of the infamous banana-boat.

They came into the clearing where the refugees were huddled and ready for sleep, most of the morose faces not bothering with the new arrivals above mild curiosity. Conrad and Yozak went to erecting the tent they'd traveled with, a small but much improved structure from the ones Yuuri had spent his day building. It felt wrong to take such comforts for himself when he knew how many others were sleeping in worse conditions. Gunter insisted, however, and offered his own tent to a foster the children inside to keep his king from sacrificing his own. Yuuri was grateful but still unsure. Sitting on dry ground under a canvas canopy, it was only Conrad's companionship that kept him from retreating back to the fires with the Trebic citizens.

"I'm glad you're here," he admitted, head heavy and body sore.

Conrad wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, still smiling but brow pinched with regret. "I'm sorry it took us as long as it did. We left as soon as we received Yozak's message."

Yuuri shook his head. "You're here now. That's all that matters." It was more than he had hoped for. He pulled the blanket firmly around himself, eyes downcast. Alone it was somehow harder to meet Conrad's eyes even as his presence gave the king relief. He needed his mentor there for moral support. Murata and Yozak were some of his closest companions but they were secretive and seemed to think that Yuuri was naive and mistaken more often than not. Conrad believed in Yuuri unconditionally. Yuuri needed to believe he did, at any rate. Deep down he worried the next comforting words the swordsman would utter would be condolences, speeches on accepting harsh truths, unnecessary words on dealing with death. He wished he'd known under what understanding Conrad and Gunter had raced overseas. Yuuri sighed long and heavy, slumping over his own body like an old, wizened man. "What did Yozak tell you happened?"

"He said you and the Great Sage arrived in the middle of a battle and were heading inland to help the citizens who escaped from the burning city. That you needed my help."

"So.. you didn't hear about the royal family?"

Conrad's fingers flinched against his palms as they curled slowly into tighter fists. His expression remained soft but neutral, eyes the only part left to betray him as they filled with anger and sadness. "We heard."

Yuuri shook his head, laying his own hand over Conrad's nearest fist. Conrad needed to believe as he did. _Needed_ to. "He's alive. I know he is. And we're going to rescue him," he stated, staring hard at the crease in the tent's floor, too raw to look at anything that could look back and see his growing doubts.

Conrad laid his other hand over his. "Yes," he replied.

That was all it took for a long awaited sob to burst from Yuuri's lips, hands covering his face in surprise and embarrassment. Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his face, body jerking with every attempt to contain the emotions bursting from his heart. So much had happened in so short a time, more than he was ready for and far more than he could stand. He hid his face, torn between trying to stop and just letting it go. Conrad wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, cheek to chest. There Yuuri clung, no longer caring how it looked or how much of a wimp it make him seem. He'd gladly be a wimp all his life if for one second the tears made the pain go away. Conrad stroked his head and back to soothe him, saying nothing as the king choked on his own emotions, a moist and snotty mess.

As quickly as it began it ended, tapering off into a whimper as Yuuri buried his face in shame into the muscled pecs of his retainer. Conrad gave his shoulder's a squeeze, not a thought in his head of ending the embrace. "He wouldn't want you to be unhappy," he whispered.

Yuuri chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. "Yes he would. He'd want me to carry on like my whole life was ending and make sure everyone knew how miserable with worry I was. He'd want a charity event and his own colored ribbon and pamphlets everywhere saying Shibuya Yuuri is scared to death that everyone else is right." The laugh turned in to another short sob, fingers clenching in the fabric of Conrad's shirt. "What he'd want is for me to have told him how I feel back in Caloria. To have been here in this world when he needed me to be. Everything he's wanted, I never did. I fucked up. I fucked up and if we've lost him I d-..."

Conrad's arms tightened around him, hand holding his head close and secure under his chin. "We can't believe in two contradictory things. He's alive, isn't he? So there's no need to cry for him yet."

Yuuri tried to swallow his growing doubt, bottom lip trembling with the effort to compose himself. The surety he had felt the first night, the soul calling to him, he'd _known_ it was Wolfram with unwavering conviction but it hadn't happened again, not in the almost two days he'd spent in Trebic's borders. Like a dream the details slipped away the further time distanced him from the moment, replaced by images left from accounts he could not unhear. Slowly he pulled himself away from the comfort of Conrad's arms and wiped his face clean, sleeve rough on his skin but more that able for the task. "You're right. Sorry. It's been a long day. A long couple days." He smiled a self-deprecating smile. "A long several months. I don't know how you do it."

"With a great deal of effort, Your Majesty."

Yuuri sniffled, shaking his head. His whole being hurt too much to bother correcting him.

The night was long and cold even with the fires outside constantly burning, watching over them all in the darkness; guardian spirits of flame. The murmur of conspiracy and fear filled in the gaps where the hum of insects and wild animals were missing. In the morning there were the same dreary faces climbing out of shelters of ice and brush. A handful of men stripped newly dead bodies of their wares. The burns, they said, and the smoke fogging their lungs was too much. The crimes of Big Cimarron continued to mount.

Arfast, the young man with the patchy beard who had spoken at the campfire, guided the five Shin Makoku representatives to the other refuge camp after breakfast. They walked in silence, Murata, Yozak and Gunter of the contemplative sort while Conrad and Yuuri seemed lost in less constructive thoughts. It made a short trip longer, the only accompaniment to each step the crunch of snow and the caw of crows. The second camp was much larger but not much better off, several men dressed in military uniforms milling about with civilians while one held post outside a shabby tent made from a singed Trebician flag. Arfast nodded to the guard who peeked his head inside to call forth the tall figure of Sir Bersi Veleif, finery wrinkled and dingy from dirt and sweat. He smiled at Yuuri, clasping his shoulders as a friend.

"I never doubted for an instant you would come but I never thought it would be so soon. You are indeed a powerful mazoku." He praised, a look of relief passing over his dreary eyes.

Yuuri was glad once again to be in familiar company. "Are you in charge here, Bersi?"

"I am, of a sorts. Of what I hear, most of the court seems to have stayed within the city limits, trying to put their best efforts in there. I'm only here as a coward who fled at the last stand. A man of my position should have fought to the death but here I am, sleeping in the dirt as I should." He stroked his beard. "There's plenty of work to be done here, though. A few weeks and we'll have some more viable shelters; a month and we might even be able to call this a real settlement."

"Shin Makoku will be here with ships in a few days. Then we can drive Big Cimarron out and start rebuilding your real homes and businesses."

Bersi sighed, patting the young king on his shoulders. "When you say it, I want to believe. I fear it will not be so easy to get rid of them now that they are here, though. We must prepare for a long haul of hardships on the horizon. Then, if your miracle happens, it will be a happy surprise."

Gunter stepped forward, sword on display at his hip but his hands carefully distanced from its hilt. "Sir Veleif, I believe with careful planning it will not take a miracle as you suggest."

The Trebic noble raised a bushy, ginger brow at the swordsman. "Oh? And what is it exactly that you are planning?"

The wind whistled with an arrow on the wind that jerked along the breeze, crudely fashioned from scraps and hardly fit to fly. It struck Yuuri in the back before he even heard its song, a strange push and a sting that struck him dumb for a moment, senses confused. Conrad and Gunter mobilized at once, Gunter's sword pulled to deflect any additional shots while Conrad grabbed his king, shielding him more with his body than his own sword.

 _Stabbed in the back, in the shoulder, and in the gut._ Yuuri's mind opened wide at the beckoning of an adrenalin fueled rush. He could feel the warmth of blood as it pooled and trickled down his flesh, the stab of its pile under his shoulder blade, his body uncertain as to what to call the pain, inventing sensation borrowed from a mind far away. No further shots hit but in his stomach and chest he could feel the pulse of ghost wounds, the masquerade of suffering. He smiled, giddy.

"Yuuri!"


	16. Chapter 16

Wolfram worried he was losing his mind. Awareness came in chunks of pain with slices of dialogue and imagery that slipped away with fleeting clarity. He was in his own room on his bed, alone, footsteps outside and sunlight in the window, eyes locked on the strange ring around his finger. He was sitting in a throne, propped up by its high back, gown of scarlet and gold too tight around his bruised ribs. He was laying on the floor in a puddle of his own vomit, the stones cool on his face. Darkness outside an unknown room, still and quiet, awoken by his own struggle to escape the houseki's power. Those were the moments when we felt in agony, life in the present existing as one long scream and struggle. It was when it didn't hurt anymore and his mind had wandered off to places where it had not before trekked that he worried. If his mind became lost in the pleasant reprieve, there would be no more return.

For now there was sand, scorching hot under his feet with a sun boiling away in the sky. Even in the shade the brightness of the day was unbearable. Wolfram sat on his towel beside Conrad several feet above the water's edge, swords planted nearby just in case but no real fear in the air. The two watched as their king and princess splashed and played in the sea, bouncing on rubber floats and circling each other like sharks. They were loud, giggles echoing off the rock cliffs around them. Yuuri seemed as much a child as Greta was, the two of them mirroring the other in their outbursts. Wolfram could not recall the last time he'd considered something as mundane and practical as swimming to be fun.

Conrad flexed his back, arms up over his head as old bones popped. He looked out on the water with an expression of pure joy, content on the sidelines where observation allowed for secret reminders of Yuuri's happy nature. It was only as he was his brother that Wolfram's jealous quills stayed down and out of sight. Of the many things Conrad was to him, a rival in love was not among them. Even if he were cute rather than handsome or feminine rather than masculine, Conrad loved and cared for his brother's happiness, even through all the times when Wolfram fought to despise him. Wolfram wondered if behind his back those same peaceful eyes had looked at him in that way, reveling in the happiness before them. As though feeling his thoughts on his bare skin, Conrad turned a smile to him, eyes closed to the sun.

"You should join them," he said.

Wolfram shrugged, pulling his knees to his chest with arms resting outwards. "Swimming is the poor man's means of travel and part of survival training. It's not _fun_. How are we even supposed to know he's drowning if he makes that kind of scene all the time?"

Conrad chuckled. His skin was already darker from his time in the sun, paler skin reflecting under the creep of swim apparel. Wolfram had opted for the umbrella having suffered sunburn far too many times to care to subject himself to recreational lounging half naked in the sun. The darker complexion suited his brother. He'd seen him several times in childhood returning home from human lands baked bronze and glorious. At the time, it had a barbarous color or inferior blood. Looking at him now, Wolfram envied the way even the sun seemed to love him. Conrad was blessed to be loved and respected by everything and for all his years of trying, Wolfram was not immune.

"Painting isn't practical either but you enjoy that. You might like swimming too."

"That's different. Painting has an end goal and a measurable accomplishment at the end. Yuuri's idea of fun is getting undressed in a public place, rolling around in the water, and then sitting around on the sand dripping wet." Wolfram had to admit that he didn't mind half of that on the spectator side. It was the _other_ people sneaking glances at his fiance's maturing form that bothered him.

Greta came up closer to the shallows, the ruffle of her swimsuit pasted to the sides of her hips. "Wolfram! We're going to play a game! Get in, get in!"

Yuuri smiled, sunk down in the waves up to his chest. He waved over, calling him. "It's more fun with more people! I'll be 'it' the first round!"

"You'll be what?" Wolfram crossed his arms, pouting slightly at his pride's deliberate sabotage of such an invitation.

Conrad chuckled, leaning back on his elbows. "I can watch you all from here. It might be cooler in the water."

Wolfram groaned slightly but stood, dusting sand off his legs. "That's not the point," he grumbled. He walked down to where the sand turned from gold to brown under the lap of lazy tides. Greta raced out and grabbed his hand, pulling him to delve in deeper.

"Come on, come on! Greta and Wolfram have to try not to get tagged!" she instructed, anxiously ushering him in deeper to where Yuuri waited, goofy grin on his face as at last they managed to coax the stubborn prince into their domain. At least in the water, Wolfram's state of undress was less noticeable.

"Alright, Greta, did you explain the rules?" Yuuri asked, wading over to meet them in the shallower waters.

Her hands raised high. "Yuuri says _Marco_ and Greta and Wolfram say _Polo_ and then Yuuri has to try and tag us!"

"I say what?" Wolfram eyed the Asian man. "What kind of game is this?"

Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly "Ah, I played it in America when I was little. It's best when there's a lot of people but I think three will be okay. I have to keep my eyes closed so you have to answer me back when I call so I can find you. Oh, but you don't want to be caught because if you are-"

"-then you're 'it!" Greta finished, bouncing in excitement.

Wolfram looked at them both as though they were crazy.

They remained in the shallows for Greta's ease, Yuuri dipping low with his eyes closed tight, arms out like a blind man. Wolfram took Greta's lead, pulling back away from their king while Yuuri spun in place, whirlpool maker. He stopped with his back to Wolfram, patting the tops of the water with his open palms. "Marco!" he called out.

"POLO!"

"P-..polo?" It was nearly impossible to say something so absurd out loud. Wolfram felt his face grown warm, unaided by the sun's hot rays.

Yuuri darted towards Greta, her little feet carrying her out of his reach just in time. "Marco!"

"POLO!"

It was utterly ridiculous. Was this how all Earth mazoku behaved? Was this the sort of thing their Maou expected them to learn?

"Wolfram! You have to say it!"

"Ah, um... Pol-GAH!" Yuuri's flying tackle caught him completely off guard, balance lost as they both fell backwards under the water. Yuuri's arms were around his chest, Wolfram's arms caught pinned to his sides, wash of black hair in his face, bubbles everywhere. It was over too fast but lasted longer than it seemed to need. It was wonderful. Sputtering he rose back from the water, his own hair plastered in front of his eyes while through their strands he saw Yuuri emerge as well, heard his victorious cry.

"Got you!" His smile was wide and face serious as from a fight. "That means you're it!"

" _It_? That's not fair! I wasn't ready!"

"Wolfram's it! Wolfram's it!" Greta splashed and kept her distance. "Now you have to close your eyes and spin around!"

Traitor child. He scowled, pushing back his bangs. "Fine. But I'm going to get you!"

Greta giggled and swam to Yuuri's side, picking favorites. Yuuri gave her head a pet then nodded to Wolfram, affirming her instructions. The mazoku took a deep breath and closed his eyes, outraged at his own acceptance of such a ridiculous position. _It._ He turned slowly, arms out to anchor as he listened to them swim around him. Utterly pointless. With his eyes closed he felt even more aware of how foolish he looked, no longer able to spy the mocking stares from the shadows that might be watching. Of course Conrad got to stay on the beach, looking cool and mature. It always seemed only to be Wolfram who got caught in the more childish antics. He wasn't 40 anymore. He wanted to be taken seriously.

"...Marco...?"

"POLO!" came twin replies.

Gwendal would never have agreed to something like this. Wolfram reached out with his hand, sure he'd heard Greta's voice, but slapped his palm against the water instead, splashes carrying her further away. He'd probably looked slow and stupid.

"Marco."

"POLO!"

He reached out again, again found nothing. His ears were burning with humiliation. Another call, another reply, another empty swipe accompanied by laughter. He was certain he even heard Conrad laughing at him. How dare he.

"Marco!" He shouted, ready to peek open his eyes and cheat if he had to.

Yuuri's voice breathed against the back of his neck, a whisper of mixed intent. "Polo."

Wolfram spun, reaching out for him but finding nothing, not even water. He listened for the splash of retreating kicks and heard nothing. He opened his eyes and saw the canopy of his bed in scarlet. He felt the lump of houseki in his stomach and curled in on himself, pleasant memories fading around ceaseless agony. The beach was gone, Yuuri was gone, Greta and Conrad and the peaceful shores of Shin Makoku all gone along with the end of the memory where many more chances to be a tumble of limbs continued on for hours. _Flirting_ , Conrad called it. _Shameful_ , he had rebuked. _Wonderful_ , he recalled.

He forced himself to sit, drenched in sweat from the effort as he hauled his spine into place one vertebrate at a time. The glass of water on the bedside table seemed miles away but with effort he wrapped his fingers around it and brought it to his lips. The water had spoiled but still felt good as it trickled down his throat and chin. He needed to eat, needed to keep food down, needed not to waste away slowly by the power of a gemstone too stubborn to move.

Eyeing the door he wondered if he could make it there on his own, if they had even bothered to lock it, how far he could get before someone noticed. Not far, he knew, but maybe far enough. Using the bedside table he carefully hauled himself to standing, taking his time. The first steps were the hardest, shuffling over the rug on bare feet scabbed over from being dragged. He kept his hands on anything that was available: a chair, the lamp, an armoir, an open chest. He put his body into the door, back to the wood of the left while he pushed against the right, trying to keep his balance working on a door that opened in. It creaked slightly, giving his fingers purchase to push harder. The guard's assistance was sudden, pushing so hard it unbalanced Wolfram and sent him to the floor with the crack of his skull against the stone.

Dizzy, he could still hear the chuckle of the brutish human soldier as he grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the door, chastising him like a child. "Guess you either get brains of beauty, huh, Stupid?"

Wolfram looked out the door as he was pulled away from it. Just the one guard. He closed his eyes, hiding a smile. They were underestimating him.


	17. Chapter 17

Yuuri winced at the tightness of his wrappings, pouting ever so slightly at Murata's mismatched grin under serious eyes. He was almost glad the sage could still find amusement in even their dark situation. He'd been quiet and contemplative for far too long which in Yuuri's experience meant things were worse than they seemed. A bit of schadenfreude seemed to at least surface him long enough from thought to become human again, not just a being of memory. Sitting alone in a tent, the two finally seemed to have a brief reprieve while the others mobilized and set their plan into its early stages.

"Mama is not going to be very pleased with us when we finally do go home."

The king groaned, rolling his shoulder to test the pain and finding it just as it was the last time he moved it. "We'll tell her I fell off a horse and hit a rock."

"I think she'd enjoy the truth," Murata put a hand over his heart, beckoning an imaginary audience with the other. "Shibuya Yuuri braving strange, frozen lands to find his lost almost-love, shot by one of the very refugees he was hoping to help in his quest to take back a kingdom from the evil Big Cimarron."

Okay, so it was _exactly_ the sort of thing his mother would love to hear--minus the part where Yuuri ended up bleeding, sore, and lucky by the small margin of the shooter's poor craftsmanship of his arrow to come away not seriously wounded. As much as he wished things were different, it was hard for Yuuri to hold the man's actions against him; he hadn't asked for his country to become a target because of an alliance. People like him where why Wolfram had a job to do. Just because a king wanted to drop prejudices didn't mean his people did. It made Yuuri worry slightly about his own people, if without him they would revert back into hating humans just as much as they were hated by them. Then again, when he had left them and it had been Wolfram chosen to succeed him, though the choice may have been surprising, Yuuri was sure he would have lead the kingdom much as he had done, different methods perhaps but with the same ideals as motivation. There would be another strong presence in Trebic to help restore and affirm their alliance. It was just the second inning, not a whole 'nother ballgame.

The shooter had been lucky Gunter had not cut him to pieces. Though he and Conrad both had murder in their eyes, Yuuri was glad to see mercy shown in their troubled times. It was far more effective in the long run than killing off every would-be assassin. He laid back on his bedroll, keeping still as instructed and hoping to heal soon. There was a battle ahead and he was not going to miss it. "You know, it's almost like you're starting to believe me when I say he's alive."

"I believe Shinou is up to something. I'm not sure what but he's spent enough time in possession of Lord Prince Beilefeld's mind I can't rule out the slight though unlikely possibility." He shrugged, mouth pursed as if to say ' _who knows?_ '. He poked at Yuuri's bandages, earning another frown and a slap to his hand. "I think it's personally best to be prepared for the worst, however. Treating the siege of the castle as a rescue mission divides our strengths a little too much but I have no qualms about acting in the best interests of any possibility when the alternative is a lose-lose outcome."

"Well... I guess that's good." Yuuri watched the white puff of his breath rise over his face. Even if it was only him and Conrad who still had any hope left, at least the others weren't trying to stop them.

"You know you're not in love with Lord Prince Bielefeld Havard, right?"

It was an odd turn for their conversation and not on he had expected. Yuuri blinked and turned his face to look at his friend. "What do you mean I'm not in love with him? You even said in the courtyard-"

"I said you were _lovesick_ ," Murata corrected. "That's different. You can love a lot of things and people but being _in_ love is not the same. Trust me."

The king scowled, sitting up on his elbows despite the pain. For all his wisdom, Murata could be a real idiot. "I think I know what I feel."

"So do I."

"Oh, really? What is it then?"

"Guilt."

Yuuri opened his mouth to combat him but found nothing there for fuel. He closed his mouth, tongue pressed against the backs of his teeth.

Murata smiled, "No one is blaming you, Shibuya. You didn't sign the treaty, you didn't force him to marry Prince Havard, and you didn't send Big Cimarron here to kill them. Everything has been by choice or circumstance which you are just as powerless against as the rest of us."

There was no easy way to explain how he felt differently. It was a little infuriating that Murata already knew he did. Like the stories of butterflies and typhoons, the sage had no means of truly absolving him of any responsibility. Yuuri'd done too much wrong, distanced himself too far from what was really important. He closed his eyes, jaw still set tight. "If I had been here, I could have handled things differently."

Murata shook his head. "There have been many times before when you were not here and nothing happened at all. Your absence or presence does not dictate events."

"If I had married Wolfram-"

"You ran from him. You didn't want to marry him."

"I didn't know what I wanted!"

"You still don't." Murata's wise pout seemed meant for himself more than Yuuri. He was the bringer of harsh truths and the assignment was familiar but one of his least favorite. "One kiss does not change the entire course of past events. So you realize you're not all that adverse to men after all. That makes Wolfram a possibility, not your eventuality. It takes time, Shibuya. What happened to going home and coming to terms with even that much?"

"You know _exactly_ what happened." Yuuri laid back down and closed his eyes. Maybe Murata would take the hint and drop the subject.

Not likely. "I do. You got scared. And the part of you that wants to protect everyone and make things right is willing to jump right in to try and be the band-aid that covers up everything wrong until it's right." Murata poked him in the injured shoulder again, guaranteeing him an audience as Yuuri flinched. "Don't let a guilty conscience exaggerate what's real. I don't think it was a coincidence that you became engaged to Wolfram any more than it was for all three brothers to be keys. As far as your personal life, if he's dead, then his part in the plan was probably to get you to broaden your horizons and drop your own prejudices. If he's alive, I'm quite sure the two of you will live happily ever after. Eventually. When you've gotten over the fear and guilt and remember just how crazy he makes you sometimes and whether you can actually deal with that while acting like a grown up and not a child."

Yuuri was sure Murata knew just how infuriating he could be. It was always worse when he was right. Of course he felt guilty, he'd never pretended he didn't feel in some ways responsible for everything that had happened with Trebic. The argument at Caloria's ball, the desire felt in the kiss Wolfram had returned, seeing Wolfram's mature, graceful, somber demeanor so distanced from the shouting, jealous rage that was so familiar had all filled Yuuri with his own desires to give Wolfram everything he wanted to make things right again, including himself. Was it really so wrong? Would he flinch from his touch under such motivations or resent him for his advances? Would he hide from him as he had in the past, would he take refuge from his intensity on Earth, repeating his same mistakes? Anything but that. He'd heard the hurt in Wolfram's voice in the garden, chastising him for his own mistakes in a false engagement, the happiness he'd denied him in his flippant treatment to something that had become Wolfram's bedrock. Why couldn't what Wolfram wanted be right for the both of them? It made things much simpler.

Yuuri put his good arm over his eyes, shading them from nothing but his companion's stare. "Murata, I think you've read a few too many of my mother's books."

"Worse. I have memories of living life as woman. I can relate to just about anything after four thousand years." His voice was cheerful again for a moment, then dipped down into its sage register. "I'm just trying to say: don't let your guilt decide who you love. Misplaced guilt eventually fades but the choices you make under its influences don't disappear as easily."

Yuuri groaned, tired and sore and miserable in his own skin. "You don't make any sense! 'We're meant to be', 'don't rush into anything', 'we'll live happily ever after together', 'you don't want to regret it'. Just what am I supposed to take away from that?" he asked the cryptic young man.

Murata sighed, his glasses clinking as he removed them to wipe away the fog. "That you and Wolfram might be right for each other but it can still go horribly wrong if you aren't ready. And you're not. You weren't ready to be a father when you adopted Greta and it's because of everyone's help that that hasn't been a disaster of good intent. No one is going to step in to be the surrogate boyfriend or husband to Wolfram when you leave for Earth and stay gone for weeks on end to play baseball and pass High school or even University. Wait until you're ready to settle before you make any more commitments."

"I don't want to make him wait for me."

"If his love is real, he will."

"And when the next Alfgeir Havard comes around?"

Murata shook his head. "After all this, I don't think you need to worry about that."

Yuuri dropped his arm from his eyes, staring up at the tent's pitched roof, numb and unsure of all but two things: 1) he was an idiot, and 2) Wolfram was still alive. With plans already in motion to secure the latter, it was his own stupidity he'd have to tackle alone. He was sure he would probably have to thank Murata at some point but it wasn't now. "I'll... I'll think about it. What you said. About it being guilt."

"Love is a wonderful thing, Shibuya, and all good things are worth their wait."

Yuuri grimaced, turning over on his good side, facing away from him. "You really are an old man."

"And an old woman."

\----

Conrad scraped the stone over his sword's blade, still unsatisfied by its sharpened edge which could already split a hair. It was something he could do, though. Something productive. He kept his eyes always on his king's tent as the stone road over the iron, the repeat of past mistakes unforgivable.

Yozak, loudly stretching with the creak of tired bones and well worked muscles, plopped down beside on on a log near the fire, hands outstretched to the friendly flame. "Don't worry about it. The kid's fine."

Conrad said nothing, jaw set as the stone scrapped down again.

"Ah, I know this silence. It's been a while since I got the Captain's cold shoulder of internal strife."

"Yozak--"

"No, I get it. You'd rather stew in your own pot of distress. That's fine." He kept his eyes to the flames, voice cheerful though berating. "We've got the troops here ready. I think most of these men have used more pick axes than swords but whatever skills they've got, they're ready to use them. Looks like we're right on schedule for tomorrow. Dove from Gwendal says they should be here by nightfall. If you really think he's still in there, though, I can go in tonight and search the place. No reason to make you do it tomorrow when it looks like the kid's going to be a handful."

Conrad sighed, shaking his head. He rested his sword against his lap. "It should be me."

"It can't always be you. You either guard Yuuri or you go in tomorrow and try to find your brother. With his royal highness wounded, it doesn't look like you get to do both this time."

Yet another instance when fealty to his king and country had to trump his fealty to his family. Conrad clenched his hand around the stone he held. While there was nothing in his life he would change, the circumstances in these matters continually put his heart on the line.

Yozak sighed, one hand on Conrad's shoulder, squeezing firmly in acknowledgement. "I'll be there by dawn. I'm sure after the siege they could use some staff. No one's going to turn down a pretty little maid like me. If he's there, I'll find him."

"Yozak..." Conrad clasped his hand over his friend's. At the very least he had the utmost faith in him. "Thank you."

"All part of the job." He took his hand back, punching him in the arm instead. "Don't you worry about a thing. I've got it covered. You just protect his majesty and we'll see all of this through."

Conrad turned a weary smile to his friend, relieved but not happy. Even if Yozak's methods were safer and more assured, it should have been Conrad's arms which ushered his brother to freedom or carried him out to safety. Or bore his remains to a place of safekeeping until they could be returned home for proper rites. Such should be his burden as the one who had seen him to this life from the start.

Yozak frowned, throwing his arm over his shoulders to pull Conrad by his neck, forcing him closer. "Don't give me that look. You're a stronger man than that. What's done is done and we do what we must do. There is no cargo more precious to me than what is precious to you so you had better believe that I'm going to be tearing that place apart till I find him. You delegated the task, you didn't abandon your duty. Don't go soft on me, Captain. We get enough of that from the king."

The swordsman chuckled just slightly, resting his head on his friend's shoulder. "What would I do without you here?"

"Something stupid." Yozak kissed his head and let him go, arm around his back as Conrad took his time to sit back straight. "So, should I go with the lilac dress and oval apron or the turquoise and square?"

"Turquoise. I've never really liked you in lilac."

Yozak elbowed him in the ribs. "I look great in every color."

Conrad chuckled, a little more life in the sound. They sat by the fire while the stars held out above them in the sky. Eventually it was time for Gunter to take over watch and upon his relief, Yozak said goodbye and grabbed his heavy sack, starting off through the woods. Though tired from the long day, Conrad did not take his eyes off his back until he had completely disappeared into the darkness.


	18. Chapter 18

Yuuri tried to hide his fatigue from Conrad as they crept along the shadows outside the castle's back gates. Murata had told him not to use maryoku in human territories but the ease at which his healing powers relieved the worst of his shoulder's pain was too important to forgo. It left him dizzy but Murata's battery-like ability made up for the worst of it. Still his body beckoned him to sleep, to rejuvenate in the ancient, fail-safe way of slumber. There was simply no time for that. The castle was right there, a Big Cimarron fortress laid by hands which paid no tribute to their king. It would end tonight. Yuuri promised as much to himself and Bersi who crouched low on Conrad's left, bottom lip tucked between his teeth in thought.

"It's quiet."

Conrad nodded, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His eyes scanned the area, body hardly moving as he blended perfectly into the shadows by will. "You mentioned archers?"

"Yes, along the top gate wall. We'd have seen them or been seen by now if they were there." Bersi noted, looking up through the stars at the ivy trimmed wall and its vacant ledge.

Conrad looked less than convinced.

Much like Blood Pledge Castle, the Trebic palace was set high on a hill overlooking the harbor and villages below. Though their line of sight was hampered by the bare branches of trees, enough of the black sea was visible. Ships lit the dark waves like constellations of stars, clustered lights from cabins and decks arranging themselves in unlike patterns. It was too dark to make out the flags but judging by the peacefulness in the air, they belonged solely to Big Cimarron. The Shin Makoku fleet was still en route. Gunter had assured them it would not be long given the dove's much decreased flight.

Murata knelt beside the silver haired man, no weapon in his hand. Yuuri wasn't sure what good he'd be in a fight if he wasn't armed. Gunter had through well enough ahead to have brought Morgif--who deemed it prudent to stay quiet for once--but for the sage nothing had been prepared. Murata didn't seem to mind in the least but it made Yuuri worry. It was good to have someone on hand who could dissect battle plans and make tactical decisions for them but for that person to be defenseless was practically suicide. It wasn't the first time and Yuuri told himself it would not be the last. Murata was a man of thought, not of action--unless, of course, there were cute girls around; the dichotomy of the young man and the sum of his many memories.

Murata scanned the top of the wall as well, glasses shining in the moonlight. "Archers are more effective at a distance. I agree with Sir Veleif. The only reason to not fire on us now would be to toy with us. It's only the sentry we'll have to worry about and keeping quiet as we dispatch of the guards."

"I'll handle the sentry," said one of the Trebic soldiers, armed with a cross bow. "They won't hear so much as a peep out of him."

Gunter nodded, pulling his sword from its sheath. The others did the same, the quiet scrape of metal falling under the howl of the winter winds.

Yuuri pulled Morgif free, one palm over the ghastly face just in case excitement lead to the incessant groaning and hoo-ing of the demon sword. His palms felt sweaty, his heart beating fast. This was it. In a few hours, he'd have Wolfram back. In a few hours there would be blood and death and everything he despised about war, orchestrated by his own words, a violent counter to a violent act. And he could live with that, he felt. So long as in the end the right people were in power and everyone who had been wronged felt things had been made right, he could live with the bloody campaign.

And if he couldn't, if it plagued him forever, so long as Wolfram was alive, some part of it all would still be worth it.

Gunter raised his hand to the ready and gave the signal for the attack. Silently and without the roar of battle frenzy, their troop streamed into the back gardens and proceeded to slaughter every solider in sight.

\--

If getting hired had been easy, getting information had been a cinch. Maids talked, soldier's bragged and joked, and the only secrets anyone bothered to keep were on the unimportant things like what first sergeant Bauer was getting lieutenant Lange for his birthday. There was very little of what Yozak heard that made him eager to report back to his captain. There was a great deal of what he'd heard that made him more than ready to deliver the most assuredly alive Lord Prince Bielefeld Havard from his home-turned-prison. A true to life demon, they called him. None would dare go near his room. A man once dead now seen to exist as a living corpse, the general's doll and insult to the demon tribe itself. There would be hell to pay.

Yozak had no trouble getting permission to head to the prisoner's room, tray of food and drink easily concealing weapons and picks--any manner of necessity for making an escape. The fast fading dusk on the horizon was the first sign of the coming siege and he planned to be already halfway out the door before the true confusion and panic struck. There was no guard posted outside the door he'd been told contained the prisoner. It was strange but fortuitous, a small stroke of good luck which Yozak was never too proud to accept. He smiled at his fortune, turning the handle and peeking in slowly before hurrying in, door slammed closed behind him.

There was so much blood. It stained the walls, ceiling and bedclothes, pooled on the floor and soaked the rug. Shards of a broken drinking glass littered the floor by the bedside table while one long piece still stuck out from the young man's pale neck. His Achilles tendon had been sliced through, jagged lesion running across the back of his right heal. He was naked save for his underwear.

Yozak looked around the room, listening for the shuffle of footsteps or the wheeze of breath. Everything was silent and still save for the wind rattling the windows.

Dropping the food tray to the bed, Yozak cursed and gathered up his supplies, slipping them down the bosom of his uniform as he hurried out the room and down the hall at a run. He didn't have time for this. This wasn't supposed to be how the plan went.

He could already hear the clash of armored footsteps as they hurried within the castle. Things were already getting started and he was one too many steps behind.

\--

Trebic was a beacon of light smoldering on the coastline, ruby against the ebony night where the torchlights burned through the cold. They were close--close enough to see and be seen. Gwendal took a deep breath of the sea air, eyes focused and cold as steel in their unnervingly serious stare. He was not a forgiving man.

"Sir, we've got at least three ships off to starboard. I've had our gunmen ready the canons. We'll be within range in fifteen minutes."

Gwendal nodded his consent, too focused for speech. His men were wise and well trained; they knew what to do.

Somewhere in the darkness, Conrad was watching over their king. Somewhere on the frozen soil there were men falling for their homeland and vengeance being served in bloody revelry. Gwendal knew these thoughts and motivations well. Solid and unmoved as the earth he commanded, he still had a heart that beat with the pride of a mazoku. He knew anger, hate, devotion, grief. He'd lost both his brothers at one place in time or another and in those moments had known more rage than any ball of yarn could pacify. No one messed with his family. Second only to his king and country, there was nothing he would fight harder to protect or avenge. Wolfram had been only eighty-three...

He could recall the Caloria ball, the strangely tense atmosphere, the choke of pain his his chest and throat when he had seen that _man_ beside his youngest brother. Eighty-three never seemed so much like a child's age than in that moment, seeing him stand there, dwarfed in his husband's shadow, a little boy playing grown up. Eight-three was rash and foolish. Eighty-three was consenting. Eight-three had a lifetime's worth of hopes and expectations that had been put on hold for a grown man's war. Eighty-three was far too young to die.

It still surprised the older man how with Yuuri standing right before him, it had been Gwendal who Wolfram had pulled aside. He'd felt awkward as he seldom had before, hands immediately mimicking the looping pattern of his knitting needles as he stood before him in a quiet corner, alone.

"Has he been kind to you like I told him to be?"

Words that felt like they should have come from his own lips startled the older man. The worry that pinched his brother's face, the embers of rage ready to be fanned within his emerald eyes, that protective streak that seemed to run through all of Cecilie's sons was clear in even his battle ready stance. Gwendal placed his hand on his shoulder, saddened by the happiness he felt at being so loved. "We are all entitled to our feelings regarding what has transpired. If he has been short or angered, it is not directed at me alone."

Wolfram sighed, head hanging. "I'm sorry. I've tried to tell him-"

"I'm aware. Thank you. It is not necessary."

He looked older. Tired. Gwendal hated his somber maturity, the kind of quiet calm that stemmed more from learned behavior than Wolfram's natural inclination. Much as he had wanted his brother to grow up, he envied his honesty and inability to hide his emotions or their intensity. This subdued parody of his fiery sibling worried him more than almost anything else.

"And you.. you're... alright?" His throat felt tight. Never had such an easy question come at such a strain.

Wolfram smiled slightly. "Yes. It's actually a lot easier than I thought it would be. Parts of it anyway. I don't suppose you got the letter? About the ships?"

Work. Duty. An escape to something less raw. Gwendal welcomed it. "I did. I'm afraid we can't send any more than we already have."

"I see..."

"... How badly are you in need of these ships?"

Wolfram put his hands out, eyes downcast to his empty palms. "There are skirmishes nearly every week. Big Cimarron comes in, takes out a few freighters or common fishing vessels, then backs off once we meet them en force. Several of our war ships have been damaged and are in dock for repairs. We're down to the bare minimum for security."

"Are you afraid?"

"Not for myself."

He was. Gwendal had seen it in the curl of his fingers, the bend of his neck, the slump of his shoulders. It wasn't terror but a worry, a foreseeable future set too plainly on their horizon with only a beggar's luck to stave it off.

One ship, he had promised him. Just one more before Shin Makoku would leave itself too vulnerable. He could have sent two. Three. Five. He could have sent the whole armada and planted himself firmly at the shore to raise the very seafloor from its dark home to protect Shin Makoku himself. He could have been more generous even as the learned part of him knew there was no mistake in his decision, no flaw in his logic.

He'd killed his brother with sound tactical analysis and for as long as the sea would bare him, he could bring down his grief and vengeance upon the Big Cimarron vessels that had sent him down that path.

"Sir, we're nearing maximum range. Big Cimarron sips are responding aggressively. Perhaps you should head inside."

Gwendal shook his head, the cold in the air still warmer than the chill in his chest. "I will not move from the deck until we have won or are dead. Proceed with the attack."

\--

Inside the Trebic castle was as much a labyrinth as Yuuri recalled Blood Pledge being when he'd first entered in. Stone laid passageways all looked the same, tapestries and flags of similar or the same patters making the monotony even worse. There were bodies in the halls they'd passed before, though. Old blood and new soaked into the mortar, seeping into cracks and pooling in the craftsman's errors. That was how he could tell them most apart. It made Yuuri sick. It made Morgif greedy and enthralled. Life was full of moments when second guessing was too little too late. Yuuri made himself remember that these were the people who had attacked a country on the basis of spreading hate. With every thrust he parried and bit of flesh he caught on his blade, he felt similarly guilty.

He had not killed yet. Conrad always took that blow for himself, steel piercing through weaknesses in armor as though it were made of air. Even if Morgif did swallow their souls, they were dying men already. In some way, he was showing them a mercy in their consumption. Not really. No. Not at all.

They were thoughts for a much latter time.

Desperate and eager, Yuuri pressed into every room they came across, finding them empty or filled with frightened servants or battle ready soldiers. Still no sign of Yozak. Still no sign of Wolfram. He wondered how Gunter and Murata were doing, if they had made their way to the audience chamber, if they had found the general, the self-appointed king. Was the battle over yet? Had they won? With every door he opened and every disappointment that lay beyond it, he felt his anxiety raise and the frenzy of his defensive strikes become uncontrolled and random. There was so much he wanted to know. Had the need for bloodshed passed?

Conrad sliced through the chest of another young soldier with blue-grey eyes and a gap between his two front teeth. Yuuri watched him slump to the floor, jumping back from his prostrate form.

"You're getting too sloppy, Yuuri. I need you to stay focused."

"I'm sorry. I'm just.. I'm looking."

"Please look out for yourself as you do so, your majesty. Wolfram will cry if you aren't able to rescue him yourself."

Yuuri nodded, grip tight around Morgif's hilt. Down another hall he saw more doors, so many doors. He imagined his nightmares to be filled with endless hallways of doors from then on. He walked to each one, throwing them open. They were empty, bedrooms and sitting parlors long since vacated. Each one was red like the Trebic flag and the blood which coated its land. Yuuri let out a frustrated bark as he slammed the door to the last room, hands shaking as he pressed forward. At the next T-junction there were many men waiting, soldier's with swords and arrows ready to cut through their slender ranks. Yuuri caught a strike against Morgif, putting all his strength into his defense as Conrad swung himself through three at a time. It was nothing. They'd press on through. They were doing just fine.

"Yuuri, look out!"

On instinct the king spun around, Morgif's blade somehow connecting with the arrow meant for him and deflecting it harmlessly to the ground. He stared wide eyed at the Big Cimarron soldier leaning heavily against the wall, one arm tucked in around his stomach with rivers of sweat running down his face. His uniform was too big and splattered in blood. He wasn't the shooter, no, Conrad had severed his spine with a hard thrust through his gut. This soldier was far more familiar and dear than any of the nameless bodies that fell to the floor in lifeless heaps.

With a delirious smile, Wolfram pitched forward, saved from smashing face first into the cold, stone floor by his brother's quick catch.


	19. Chapter 19

Murata was not a big fan of surprises. Surprise parties, maybe, but surprises in general were hard to work in to a viable plan and often resulted in chaotic response. The soldiers stationed inside the castle had been numerous indeed. He'd accounted for as much, planned to divide their strengths in such a way as to keep both the rescue and military operatives well in force. He had not considered there presence there to have been quite so quickly foreseen as to bring houseki amulets into the fray. It spoke volumes to him in short bursts of illuminated disgust. King Lanzil had taken his prejudice far too far this time.

He dashed along not too far from Gunter but always mindful of the span of his swing, wanting the expert to have every available angle open to him to combat the swarms of soldiers. His brow was damp still from the houseki brought by the last wave of now dead and dismembered men. Murata worried for his stamina more than his strength. The painful gemstone was all too easy to miss until the waves of agony grew close enough to mazoku flesh to crawl beneath the skin and suck dry all reserves. Murata enjoyed being a special case but remembered well the strange, pulsing hollow inside that was the touch of houseki; like kryptonite and just as green.

Gunter ran with his sword drawn and pointing towards the floor, gesturing to doors and windows with his free hand as he commanded the men to search and destroy. This was more like the wars Murata recalled, not the feel-good, sit around and talk sort of politics that Yuuri clung to. Both could be effective, both had a time and a place. Murata was under no illusion that this could have been fought peacefully. That had been at least one conversation he hadn't had to have had with the young king. Shinou would be proud of his chosen one; Yuuri was learning to compromise.

Before them the grand entrance to the royal audience chamber stood barred by several swordsman. It was almost laughable how easily Gunter could take them down, even at his less than stellar state. The accompanying Trebic men and armsmen took care of the rabble that swooped in to surround them, the way forward cleared almost single-handedly by the mazoku lord. They pressed hard at the tall, heavy doors which gave a creak of resistance and smelled of old pine.

The audience chamber was very large with a high domed ceiling, walls of evenly spaced windows along the sides. At the front center was a raised podium on which two thrones sat, the left slightly larger than the right, flanked by curtains and oil burning lanterns hanging from stone columns. Aside from its dressings, the room was empty. Gunter ordered the men to close the door behind them and they did so without hesitation, keeping the wide room safe from attack as breaths were caught and muscles rested. The lavender haired man approached the thrones with unsettled interest. Murata did not like surprises. The self-appointed king of Trebic was not where he'd been expected to be.

"What now, Your Grace?"

Murata adjusted his glasses, nose pinched irritably under the press of their weight. "We wait here. He's a military man above all else. If he knows here is where the fight is to be had, he'll mobilize here. We can push out easily from this location to other outlying regions in the castle. For now, this is our base of operations."

Gunter nodded, sword sheathed for a breath of momentary cessation. He jerked to attention when the curtain behind the thrones parted, sighing out in mild annoyance when the orange haired maid waved his way out of the shadows. Yozak planted his hands on his hips, biceps bulging out of puffed sleeves trimmed in lace.

"So much for laying in wait for the assassination."

"Yozak," Gunter shook his head, no attempt made to hide his dismay. "What are you doing here? Did you complete your task?"

The cross-dresser's face wrinkled in a dark grimace. "Someone got to him before me. Or, I don't know, maybe he got himself out. Kid was alive last anyone knew but I never saw him myself and didn't see him before all hell broke lose. By the look of it, sounds like that ol' king of ours was right after-all, though."

Perhaps there were still other surprises that were of the good variety. "He's alive?" Murata couldn't help but be a little shocked. Shinou had outdone himself this time.

"Alive ain't the half of it. These Big Cimarron jokers are playing a dangerous game."

Murata nodded, his own assumptions having alluded to as much. "I'll be interested to hear what the general has to say for himself."

Yozak shrugged his well toned shoulders. "Why wait around for him? I can tell you just about everything you need to know and plenty you probably don't as well."

Gunter gave the room a cursory glance, checking the remaining shadows for more well trained spies that might be lurking for the enemy. "Alright, Grier. Tell us what you know."

\--

There seemed to be a never-ending supply of soldiers. The more men Yuuri saw fall down dead, the more came out from behind corners and doorways to be cut down as well. He'd seen several of their Trebic allies fall, the numbers that comprised their troop beginning to dwindle to frightening proportions. They were almost there, though. According to the men the royal audience chamber was not much further. There they would regroup with the others and hopefully bring an end to the sad and desperate ordeal.

It was easier to think about the plan than it was to dwell on Wolfram's condition. Cradled in Conrad's arms and still out like a light, the only sounds from the widower were occasional gasps or moans of pain as he stirred against his brother's chest. They had made themselves quite assured the blood on his borrowed clothes was not his own. The source of his pain was indeterminable and so was the means to ease his discomfort. It was easier not to think about it than it was to accept that for now there was nothing that could be done.

But he was alive. In pain or not, he breathed and his heart pulsed with the venom of life. Seeing him, having him near and in friendly arms, that alone could have made Yuuri light enough to fly. The burden of so much of his guilt had fallen from his shoulders to crack against the stone like a Big Cimarron skull.

The doors to the audience chamber were closed with a handful of enemy soldiers trying to break there way through. In a few slices they were gone like bad memories, the way now clear save for the heavily barred doors. Yuuri knocked hard.

"Murata! We're here! We've got him!"

He looked over his shoulder, waiting for the next wave of eager deaths to rush forward. The door groaned from fatigue as it was pulled open, muscled arm gesturing them all through. "Quickly. Come on."

Yuuri smiled at Yozak and did as asked, rushing ahead to see that the others had all made it safely as well.

Within the large space, Murata and Gunter talked quietly amongst each other, shaking their heads and gesturing with their hands in a odd pantomime of arguing geese. Yuuri walked over to them, interested in their undertakings as Conrad followed close behind him. Murata looked over at them and gave them each a nod of greeting. Gunter smiled at Yuuri, eyebrows raised in relief as he opened his arms to embrace his king. He took one step closer to him, though, and twitched, pulling back, retreating several steps with a stunned whimper.

Yuuri looked at Gunter with surprise as the swordsman kept his distance for perhaps the first time in memory. "Gunter, what's wrong?"

"Houseki." Murata explained, stare boring into Wolfram whose eyes were off and distant. There was no pity in his voice, just the cold of calculation. "Yozak discovered a great many things during the day. Wolfram was forced to consume a chunk of the stone. I'm afraid that is the lesser of our troubles at this moment, however."

Yuuri paused in shock, memory filling in the gaps of intimate knowledge where houseki's usage had led to pain and impotence. Anger swelled within him, ice cold tendrils of rage he knew he had to keep under control. He saw Conrad's fingers flinch around the bloody, trembling body in his care, muscles tensing to bare him all that much closer to him. Houseki was a pain neither of them could ever know. Perhaps that made the sympathy for it all the stronger. He caught his guardian's eye, returning his blank face with a determined frown. "We'll get him to a doctor. He'll be fine."

Conrad nodded though the silence from the other party remained heavy and foreboding over them.

Murata continued to stare at Wolfram for a long time before finally looking away and keeping his gaze averted thereafter. "He has to stay here, Shibuya," he said, knowing full well the fury of questions and outrage sure to follow.

Yuuri stared at him dumbly. He'd misheard his friend. Certainly he'd misheard. "What? What are you talking about, Murata?"

The sage went quiet. Yozak cleared his throat, a step taken forward for the address, but Murata raised his hand, a gesture to say he was more then capable of explaining the political ramifications facing them. How to word it was perhaps the more difficult part of the task. Slowly he tipped his glasses forward. "Wolfram is married to the Big Cimarron general by rather archaic but still legally accepted grounds. As the last living vestige of the Trebic royal house, this marriage legitimizes the general's claims to be the new king. As his Prince Consort, if we leave this country with Wolfram, it would be considered kidnapping and Shin Makoku would have essentially declared war on Trebic and by extension Big Cimarron."

Yuuri shook his head hard, "Murata, we're winning! All we have to do is depose the general and we've won!"

"Shin Makoku is allied with Trebic. We cannot attack their king even if he is a vile tyrant. Big Cimarron is just waiting for us to make these mistakes and give them every reason possible to launch us into another full blown war."

"Look at him!" Yuuri heard his own voice crack. "There is no way I'm leaving him behind! And he can't be married to that guy, we'd have heard something!"

"Like His Grace said, it's an old ritual but it's never been officially discharged." Yozak crossed his arms over his chest, looking serious and grim. "Trebic rules by bloodline and marriage. Couple thousand years back they got it into practice that every act of sex was considered a common law marriage so every child born was a legitimate heir. No caveat for same gendered partners so the law's wide open for interpretation. How I hear it, to make any common law marriage a legal one is as easy as appearing before court and stating your intentions. The general appeared with Wolfram a day or so ago in front of what was left of Trebic's noble class, bunch of human supremacist jackasses who staid around to buddy up with the new dictatorship. As far as anyone here is going to attest, they're married and the guy who came in here and killed all these people is their new king."

Yuuri stared at Yozak, eyes darker than black with an azure edge beginning to wash over his silhouette.

Murata stepped forward, tone that of an adult keeping his child in line. "Shibuya. Not here."

"Then where?!" Wind rushed outwards from him, the crystal chandelier swinging above them with the clink of dancing lights. "I have been more than patient with all these political shoots and ladders and I am tired of being told what I can and cannot do! This is wrong; politically correct or not! I am not going to just abide by these rules when I know it's not right!"

"You would go to war and send hundreds of thousands of people to their deaths just because you want to protect one person? Can't you see that is exactly the opposite of what this was all supposed to achieve?" Murata stepped closer to him, never one to back down from either his friend or his more terrible, powerful persona. For now it was still Yuuri, still someone open to reason above his ideals of justice. Murata stopped a foot in front of him, toes facing toes, staring without blinking at the intensity of his friend's rage. "If you do this, if you abandon peace and politics for selfishness and greed, then you are as much an enemy to Shin Makoku as King Lanzil is."

Yuuri held his stare, jaw trembling with the strain of keeping composed. Slowly, the winds died down, aura seeping back out of sight as he slumped into his heels, head bowed in defeat.

Murata placed a hand on his shoulder. Yuuri did not pull away. "We're not giving up. We only need to rethink our strategy. We all need to remain calm until we know what action to take."

Gunter cleared his throat, "If I may?" The room went silent for him as he approached with sword sheathed, thankful as Conrad retreated with his advance. "If Wolfram is married to the current king, it also makes _him_ the second most powerful man in Trebic. Any action he takes would not be considered by extension to reflect on Shin Makoku."

"So you're saying we can't kill this guy but he can?" Yozak shook his head. "Look at him. I don't think he'd need to be carried if he was strong enough to fight."

"Indeed not. But there are more ways to win a war than through strength alone."

The large doors to the audience chamber echoed with the heavy beating of a battering ram, cutting off Yozak's words of lingering doubt. The wood creaked and cracked, splintering into a shower of chips and shards. Swords came back from their sheathes as they took to arms again, reprieve revoked in the coming onslaught.

Conrad turned to Yuuri, pressing Wolfram towards him as the king immediately wrapped his arms around the limp body. "For now, please hide somewhere safe," he requested, never one to give an order unless for Yuuri's health and safety.

It was the second time in so many weeks that he'd had his arms around Wolfram. He preferred the first time. Yuuri held him tight as he backed up towards the set of thrones--they'd make good cover along with the shadow of drapes that hung behind them. Morgif crooned for a piece of the action but eventually went silent as they sat in the half-dark of their hiding spot. Yuuri could feel Wolfram's breath against his neck as he sat in his lap, curled against his shoulder. The king rested his chin against his hair, smelling blood and sweat and burning oils from the lanterns. He wasn't going to cry. He wanted to, he could feel it in his chest and even in the sting in the corner of his eyes, but he wasn't going to do it. Murata's words had hurt but they were true. The whole situation was a mess that had them walking a razors edge but it was a path they had to stick to. Wolfram was being tortured even now, cradled in his arms, but only a doctor could help him. The only thing Yuuri had control over any more was his own actions and he was not going to cry in the middle of a battle.

He dropped a hand to Wolfram's stomach, emanating healing waves to the pit of the houseki's stronghold. He wasn't sure how effective it would be, if it would cancel its effectiveness even if it was unable to cancel out his use. Wolfram smacked his hand away, not quickly but still with some force. Yuuri sighed, taking the hand in his and holding it gently. "Don't worry about me."

"Never."

Yuuri smiled slightly, giving his hand a squeeze. "Glad you're awake again. Now's probably not the best time, though."

The thunder of the door breaking open made them both jump with a start. Peeking to the side of the gold and scarlet throne, Yuuri watched the brown uniformed soldiers of Big Cimarron swarm in like ants over a picnic. Bottle-necked, Gunter and Conrad dispatched of them easily while the hole in the door remained the only entry. With a crash of glass the windows shattered as well, more soldiers leaping in, aiming to surround them. The Shin Makoku and Trebic troops kept their backs together, walking up closer to the thrones and the high ground before a wave of soldiers cut them off. It seemed like over a hundred enemy soldier's surrounded the twenty-odd mismatched group of allied forces. Yuuri held his breath as the fighting died down, a silence of anticipation filling the air as the brown uniforms held their positions with swords drawn.

"Well, now, what have we here?" a voice asked from just over Yuuri's shoulder, "If it isn't his royal highness the demon king himself."

A dagger rested against his cheek, fingers tangling in his hair to pull his head back. A secret passage, a king's escape tunnel, a false king. Yuuri stared up into the cold, smiling face of the Big Cimarron general and knew without a doubt what it meant to hate.

The general pulled up on his hair, forcing him to stand. Yuuri let Wolfram slide gently from his lap as he raised up at the behest of the human, blade sliding down his chin to his neck. Somehow it was much easier to be brave when the one in harms way was himself.

"I see you've met my bride."

"He's not your anything as far as I'm concerned."

The general chuckled, blade digging in as they stepped forward, booted feet stepping on rather than over Wolfram as the general forced Yuuri into the clear among the thrones. "I'm sure even you have to agree that he made fine bait to draw you all the way out here and a fine pawn to get me to the crown. Now I have your queen and all your little knights." He gestured out to the encircled men, their anxious faces watching in fear as the dagger's blade drew a thin rivet of blood from their king's throat. "I believe that makes this check-mate."

"I was never really much of a chess player." Yuuri winced at the sting of the cut. The iron was cold against his skin in contrast to the warmth of his blood.

Gunter pushed towards the edge of their circle, crossed swords keeping him at a distance. "Let him go. As the recognized ruler of Trebic, it is your duty to uphold the alliance between our two countries."

"On the contrary; I have no reason to wish any peaceful settlement between any human kingdom and yours. I can either kill you all now or deliver you to King Lanzil who can personally witness your deaths. The outcome is the same either way." He chuckled again, the cruel sound echoing in the large chamber. "I'm sure you've realized by now that there is nothing you can do. No matter what course of action you take, Big Cimarron wins."

Conrad's eyes were narrowed to fine slits, his sword at the ready. Death before dishonor was how it went. If the general made any move to kill Yuuri now, he'd get to watch the hundred enemy soldiers slice his friends to pieces first as they rushed in to save him.

Yuuri swallowed, mouth painfully dry and mind drawing a blank. Even if he tried to become the Maou, there was no guarantee the soldiers wouldn't first kill his friends or the knife at his throat wouldn't just as surely bleed him dead. There was no way out. He either died a martyr or lived to see the next greatest war in their lifetime. He did not relish in either outcome. "Even if you kill me, you can't take back the changes that are happening."

"Big Cimarron will never fall."

"I don't want it to," Yuuri said, trying to keep his body from trembling. "All I want is for humans and mazoku to live together peacefully. And it will happen, with or without me." he angled his gaze over at the vile man. "And with or without you."

He felt the knife press harder and heard the clash of metal. There was no more patience, no more waiting to see what the next move would bring. It was war. Conrad, Gunter and Yozak were in a frenzy, blood sweeping across in ruby rainbows of gore over the disembodied heads and limbs of soldiers in their way. Yuuri felt the cold blade begin to move, a slice starting below his ear and sweeping down across his throat. His blood felt warm but behind him was even warmer. With an alien shriek the general pushed Yuuri away, blade tumbling from his hand. Yuuri grabbed at his wound and its slow dip of blood as he stared in surprise and horror at the ball of flame engulfing his assailant. Their leader aflame, the Big Cimarron soldiers fell distracted. Gunter made mince out of them. Yozak sliced through them three at a time. Conrad cut a path of death up to Yuuri. The general fell to the ground in a scattering of glass and splinters, a crackle of brilliant light screaming and rolling in agony with flames too stubborn to die eating away at his flesh. Yuuri could not look away.

Conrad put his hand to his neck, inspecting the severity of his wound, relieved sigh ending in an awkward embrace that kept pressure at his throat but cradled his head. Yuuri turned to keep his eyes on the dying man whose death howls rose in intensity. Soldiers were running away, climbing back out the windows they'd dropped in from, scrambling for the shattered door. The Trebic troops pursued. The general begged for death rather than life. The flames kept on burning even after his last scream had ceased to echo.

"Long live the king."

Yuuri turned his head, gaze towards the thrones and their shadowed shelter. Wolfram leaned heavily against the king's throne, eyes locked on the dead man's smoldering corpse. One of the oil lanterns that had lit the backdrop was missing. There was a small pile of glass on the floor, flames dancing on the last few drops of split oil.

Wolfram slowly, and with little grace or dignity, plopped himself into the queen's throne as he let his head roll back and rest on the ornate high back of the chair. The smile on his lips was wicked and dripped with self satisfaction.

Murata let out a long breath, surveying the carnage as though it was toys left out by toddlers. "That man loves his theatrics. Still, there have to be easier ways for Shinou to help than this."

Whatever Murata was on about, Yuuri was sure he would hear more about it later. For now, all that mattered to him was the people still left living and their future that again seemed hopeful. He leaned heavily into Conrad, more tired than he could recall ever feeling. There was still a battle to fight, still hours of night left before a victorious dawn. He looked forward to seeing it.


	20. Chapter 20

Several days after the last of the Big Cimarron soldiers were shipped off towards their home shores, burdened by the weight of their dead, the nationwide funeral commenced. Flags remained at full mast out of pride in their victory but on every chest a scarlet ribbon of mourning was pinned. It had taken ages to go through the dead.

Yuuri sat towards the front of the chapel as an honored guest along with his friends and retainers. All except for Wolfram. The Prince Consort sat with the remaining nobles on the other side of the central passageway, Sir Bersi Veleif seated on his right as his chief consultant. It was hard for Yuuri to pay attention to the words being spoken by the attending priest who lead them all in a fond remembrance of the royal family and valiant soldiers who had died to reclaim their kingdom. Yuuri’s eyes and thoughts continued to drift towards his friend who even now was still so distant.

Wolfram had recovered his strength quickly once the houseki had been removed. The bruising along his mouth from the doctor’s tools were still purple against his pink lips. He still coughed blood and could not yet speak without pain or discomfort. It would not have been hard at all for Yuuri to have placed his hands along his white neck and soothe his pain away with his maryoku. It might not have healed much but it would have helped, still could. But they were still in human territory and Wolfram would not permit him to use even the slightest bit of his powers so long as he could still smack his hand away and glare. It wasn’t exactly how he had imagined their reunion to be. Wolfram had been out of it and in Conrad’s care while under the houseki’s power and free from it he now buried himself in his work. The air was tense and anxious for Big Cimarron’s rebuttal to their revolution with meeting upon meeting--many of which Yuuri was not permitted to attend—keeping Wolfram busy and the noble class in a nervous frenzy. So much protocol to adhere to, legal standards to stay mindful of to keep Shin Makoku’s role in the upheaval of the occupation to a minimum. There were plenty of witnesses, both human and mazoku, who had seen Wolfram murder the general. There could still be issues, though, if King Lanzil held enough doubt. Wolfram had to remain as obviously aligned with Trebic as possible, and by default as removed from Shin Makoku as outward appearances could achieve. He was the last link to the former royal house and while that did not make him king, it did make him an icon and a figure that could still hold some power on his own until the next true ruler was appointed. Even limited as his power was, there was no head which did not bow to him. Wolfram the Resurrected, they called him. Yuuri thought it was a very cool nickname. Wolfram hadn’t remarked on it at all.

Sitting among the large, ginger bearded men of the court, Wolfram looked very young and out of place, a dandelion stuck in a rosebush. His light hair and skin glowed in the sunlight, made paler still by the black formal uniform he wore, scarlet breast like an open wound that parted the black panels over his chest. He was stone faced as he listened, attention fully set on the words of the priest as the man in red vestments carried on about the bravery and sacrifice made by their leaders and citizens. On a table before him were several ornate boxes like Christmas presents adorned in golden designs. The bodies having been burned, only the bones remained of the fallen royals, no coffin needed for their flesh. It was a sad reminder that even the mightiest of men could still be reduced to little more than a box full of odds and ends.

“It is customary for the surviving members to say a word in this passing. We are reminded, sadly, that for this mighty line of kings there were no survivors. We are blessed, however, with the presence of our dear Prince Alfgier’s husband who rose up from his own grave to avenge these wrongful deaths.”

There was a brief moment of Trebecian applause: the stomping of feet on the floor. It was somewhat out of place in the ceremony but not unexpected. The priest smiled, arms spread out to cease the subdued celebration for the continuation of the somber affair.

“For now, our Prince Consort is unable to speak his own words, so we ask that Sir Veleif rise in his stead and read from his prepared speech.”

Yuuri turned his attention back to his friend. Somehow he hadn’t thought Wolfram would be asked to speak at the funeral. He watched as from his breast pocket Wolfram took out a scrap of parchment, passing it into Bersi’s hands which clasped around his first before accepting their token. The chief consultant took to the vacated podium slowly, unfolding the paper as he walked, eyes downcast to the scribble before him. He placed it down flat, smoothing it over, before grasping the podium’s edges and smiling down at the attending crowd.

“I’m sure no one will fault me if I speak briefly from my own heart first.” The silence of agreement followed. He smiled at the boxes before him. “I have spent many long years in service to the royal household and I have been proud always of my king and my heritage. When His Majesty told me he wished to form an alliance with Shin Makoku rather than continue with our naval battles, I had had many doubts. I worried that Shin Makoku would trick us, that they would lie and deceive us as has been said of their kind for centuries. And yet it was humans who attacked these shores--our own brothers. The king had known far better than I had what our true enemy was. It was hate. He knew our true allies in this world were men of conviction and honestly, not simply those who shared our race or species. He knew and we followed blindly till now. Now I know as he knew and see what he saw. I see a future that will be long and difficult and I see a nation of people who are strong and able and will never be defeated. We paid for Big Cimarron’s ignorance and we have received amongst our grief the knowledge and power of a greater world that our king wanted us to enjoy. And we will. In his memory and in his honor we will fight and we will win and we will be brothers and sisters of the enlightened and cast all others to the sea!”

Feet pounded against the floor, drumming loudly like a thunder of heartbeats. Bersi raised his arms high to calm them though the stomping of leather soles continued on for seconds more. Yuuri smiled gently, warmed to see their allies were not flinching from past convictions. He would not have blamed them. They had lost many lives, much property, and the cornerstone of their government. And it surely wasn’t over yet. They were the Rebel Alliance with the Death Star in pieces but the Emperor was still there, plotting against them, perhaps even building another to attack them once again. That they understood and still stomped their feet against the cobblestone in chorus was more than Yuuri could have hoped for.

“Now, now. Please. I’ve said my piece and I am prouder yet to be of Trebic soil to hear you praise our king as I do. But I must now read--as I was charged to do--our Prince Consort’s parting words for the family he had known here for far too short a time. And I ask that you bear with me as I try to do his words justice through the fault of my own tongue.” Bersi looked again at the paper he’d pressed to the podium, eyes scanning for a moment before voice breaking past a cough of preparation. “I, Wolfram von Beliefeld Havard, third son of the 26th Maou, favored nephew of the ruling house of Beliefeld, former fiancé of the 27th Maou, Father to the Maou’s daughter, Lord Prince of the Trebic ruling house and Prince Consort to the empty throne, have held many titles in my life. None of them before or after compare to the joint title of husband I shared with your Prince Alfgeir; my Alfie.”

Yuuri swallowed, biting his lip. He didn’t want to hear this. It was in tribute, it was expected, but it was naked in its exhibition. The words pulled the sea into the room, stretching out the distance between them father than just an aisle and some chairs. He looked at Wolfram, face still set in cold indifference, steely and unblinking.

“I wish I could say that we loved each other very much and our arranged marriage had blossomed into the kind of romantic feelings most people dream of when they think of marriage. Truthfully, we did not know each other for very long. But among his last words to me were ‘ _I would have loved you_ ’. And despite the stubbornness of my heart, over time, I think I might have learned to love him too. Learned for my own faults, not through any of his own, for I am more than stubborn; I am rash, I fly off the handle, I jump to conclusions and I brood impatiently. He’d witnessed as much even in only half a year; all my vices and shortcomings which were suddenly his to deal with. And still he would have loved me. Alfie was the sort of man who could only have friends, never enemies, because he would never allow himself to dwell long enough on people’s faults to be critical of them. I want to be around that kind of man. I want to have shared in his time for longer. He was one of the greatest friends I have ever known and one of the greatest losses this kingdom has suffered is in the loss of him as your king. I would-“

Bersi stumbled over the sentence as Wolfram stood, walking not to the podium but to the boxes of remains that lined the long ceremonial table. The chief consultant watched him for a moment before his duty to read was remembered, eyes scanning for his place as Wolfram placed his hands on the lid to Prince Alfgeir’s bones. Yuuri stared, heart pounding in his ears and color lost from his face.

“I would have gladly traded places with him to give you a dawn broken by his light. He would have been a great king. I am proud to be the widower of a hero such as him who died in the line of battle, in duty to the crown and his people.”

Wolfram removed the lid from its box and set it down along the table, hands delving behind the secrecy of its walls and pulling out from within a charred and flame polished skull. Slowly he bent his neck, kissing the cold bone along the ridge of its forehead.

“I can only hope more men like him will follow.”

Bersi folded the paper and hurried down from the podium as Wolfram returned the skull to its resting place. He wrapped his arm around his shoulders and guided him back to the bench to the low thunder of footfalls.

Murata leaned over, shoulder against Yuuri’s. “I’d hate to be the guy who has to follow that.”

Yuuri put his face in his hands, knowing what Murata meant but hearing a completely different meaning.

\----

It was Trebic custom for a great party to be held the night of the funeral, a celebration of life after the mourning of death. Skeleton decorations like macabre reminders of mortality hung from the walls with skull table settings and masks of ghoulish faces left for those attending to wear. It was hoped the ghosts of the departed might linger among them for the celebration if they did not feel themselves surrounded by the living. Yuuri looked at his mask, the near spitting image of Morgif’s visage, and felt the tingle of nerves creep down his spine.

“Is it really okay to have a party?” He asked, tying on the black cloak that was part of his assigned costume.

Murata fluffed the feather of his cap, his half mask baring a large hooked nose and fangs. “Why not? One of the best ways to overcome hardships is to continue doing things the way they’ve always been done.”

“I guess,” he acquiesced. He sighed and pulled his mask on, feeling anxious and grim. Yuuri’s excitement for their victory was quickly being run down by the jealousy he felt towards a dead man. It felt wrong to mimic the dead when he desired nothing more than to let them stay buried and out of sight. “Just what am I supposed to be? A ghost?”

“Yeah, I think so. I guess they thought it in bad taste to make you a demon.” Murata smiled at him, flicking the end of his hook-nose. “Come on, Shibuya. Lighten up. It’s a party. It’ll be fun.”

“Last party I went to I got yelled at by Wolfram.”

“Well, at least you know that won’t happen again.”

Yuuri groaned, leaning his forehead against the wall. “Why doesn’t this stuff ever work out the way it does in the movies? What happened to saving the princess, getting a kiss, and ridding off into the sunset for happily ever after?”

“Well, your princess is a prince consort, he sort of saved himself, he kissed his dead husband’s skull instead and it’s already night.” Murata gave his shoulders a pat. “But that doesn’t mean that happily ever after stuff is out of the question.”

“You’re terrible.” Yuuri stood up straight, readjusting the collar of his cloak. It was going to be a long night. He could already feel it.

Despite all in attendance wearing masks, it was very easy to locate Conrad and the others; they were the ones without beards. Conrad’s mask was somewhat terrifying; that of a doll with soulless eyes. Gunter’s ghost mask was just as bad as Yuuri’s. It was Yozak that Yuuri had trouble finding until a bulky woman with large biceps wearing a devil mask pulled Conrad onto the dance floor. The soldier laughed, smiling brightly as he allowed himself to be lead. Yuuri watched, wondering for the first time since he’d know the pair if maybe there wasn’t something more than camaraderie between the two half-mazoku. He watched for a moment as Conrad spun the devilish damsel around, being dipped by “her” instead as he laughed and played. They fit right in with the others, two big kids enjoying life the way the Trebic people meant it to be.

Yuuri scanned the ballroom for another familiar face, expecting a small frame and blonde hair to stick out just as easily. He found instead Gwendal lurking by a shadowed column, no costume worn and no smile. Yuuri excused himself from the others and went to him, the stoic man standing still and watching him approach.

“Where’s your costume, Gwendal?”

He grimaced. “I’m here on duty,” he explained. He looked back out at the dancers spinning in their ghoulish guises. His eyes followed Conrad with slight exasperation. “When will you be returning to Blood Pledge Castle?”

“I’d like us all to go soon. I think things here will be settled for a while now that the funeral is over.” Yuuri pulled his mask up, feeling weird being trapped behind its plastic grin. Gwendal seemed to appreciate it as well. “Have you spoken to Bersi about what it’s going to take to leave with Wolfram?”

Gwendal nodded. Yuuri waited but he made no effort to expound on his own.

“And?”

Gwendal was no longer looking at him. Yuuri turned and followed his line of sight. The golden hair crowning a while skeletal mask was unmistakable.

“On second thought, hold that thought.” Yuuri moved away from Gwendal, passing through the middle of the dance floor to cut a quick path to Wolfram. Dance partners had little trouble changing their step to avoid him as he hastened his own, bursting through to the other side with his mask still pressed atop his head. The skeleton looked at him with black holes where eyes should be and a toothy grin of exposed bone. “Hey!” Yuuri said, at a loss for what to say next. “Uh, great party…”

Wolfram nodded slowly, turning to continue on his way.

The king grabbed him by the hand. “You um.. wouldn’t want to dance or something, would you?”

He shook his head.

“Ah... is that a no, you would or a no, you wouldn’t?” He laughed nervously, arm behind his head. “Sorry, I should ask things a little more clearly.”

Wolfram gave his hand a squeeze but pulled it from his grasp, sliding his own mask up with the other. Up close, the purple markings along his lips looked nearly as bad as they had the first night he’d borne them. Yuuri could only imagine what his throat looked or felt like in comparison; rock, metal and stomach acid having been dragged up from his belly. He reached out again, fingers wanting desperately to lay against his neck and soothe that pain.

Wolfram titled his head back, asking him to stop.

“Please… don’t worry about me.”

 _Never_ , Wolfram mouthed.

Yuuri smiled just slightly. “Then can I at the very least have this dance? I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

Wolfram pursed his bruised lips, looking off to the sides. Of course people were watching them. He was Wolfram the Resurrected. There were guards, nobles, and soldiers all in attendance, all aware of his presence and by extension his actions. Yuuri could almost hear the thoughts running through his head. It wouldn’t be right to dance with his ex-fiancé at a party celebrating the life of his dead husband. It wouldn’t be right for him to be seen too close to Shin Makoku while they still waiting for Big Cimarron’s formal announcement in regards to the mariticide.

Yuuri smiled as an idea popped into mind. “Wait right here, okay?”

Confused, Wolfram nodded. Yuuri hurried back towards Gunter and Murata, the ghost and hook-nosed demon having become common wallflowers. Yuuri grabbed Murata’s hand and pulled him to follow.

“What is it now, Shibuya?”

“I need you to switch costumes with me. Hurry up!”

They ducked around a corner and behind drawn drapes. Yuuri had his cape untied and his mark off before Murata had even managed to start shaking his arms out of his tunic’s sleeves. They managed with only mild awkwardness to undress and switch their costumes, flies laced and necklines right-side-forward. Yuuri tied the half-mask in place, looking down the long nose with ornate fangs resting on his top lip.

Murata sighed at his ghost face. “I’m going to look silly standing next to Gunter in this.”

“Go find someone to dance with, then. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he called, tripping out from the curtain in his haste to return to the dance floor.

People had seen two black-haired young men walk out of the room and were predictably unsurprised when two young men with black hair returned. Yuuri’s exposed grin was hard to keep in check as he walked up behind Wolfram, giving his shoulder a tap. He was still a man from Shin Makoku, but perhaps, just maybe, not being the king and former fiancé would be enough to garner one song’s accompaniment.

Wolfram saw through his disguise immediately, eyebrows raised in question and eyes leveling him with uncertainty. Yuuri extended his hand to him, afraid to speak should anyone be near enough to hear. Intentionally stepping on his foot, Wolfram took his hand. He smiled faintly as he pulled his mask back over his face, demon and skeleton walking onto the floor to carry on their mascaraed.

Yuuri placed his left hand at the small of Wolfram’s back, taking the lead out of habit though hardly a master of the dance. In his right hand he took Wolfram’s, thumb against his palm. They’d only taken a few steps before Yuuri could feel Wolfram’s hand sliding in his grip, fingers manipulating his own as he pressed their palms together, fingertip to fingertip, dragging the rough touch of thin callouses down the length of his fingers and up, intertwining and pulling free again to tangle and caress. It was perhaps the most erotic thing that had ever happened to Yuuri. He was mesmerized by the way their hands danced, a more graceful and honest embrace than their bodies could ever mimic in the sight of Trebic’s nobles. They stood nearly a foot apart, plenty of space between them for feet and the status quo. When he spun Wolfram their fingers tickled pad to sensitive pad, rushing back together as he drew him near again, but never too near. Fingernails never scratched. Yuuri tightened his hand on his waist, looking deeply into the black cave of eyes where somewhere green irises were blinking back at him. He stepped on his feet a couple times. Wolfram always made sure to step on his right back.

At the end of the song Wolfram drew away, the touch of their right hands the last to part ways. He did not look back as he crossed to the state table where Bersi and many others were seated, watching the festivities. Bersi clapped Wolfram on the shoulders, the heavy hands making him jolt forward as Yuuri could recall Alfgeir’s own joyful pats had done.

Like Alfgeir.

A very cold and unwelcome feeling dropped like a copper coin to the bottom of an empty well inside him. He needed to speak to Gwendal. Immediately.


	21. Chapter 21

"He's not marrying him!" Yuuri shouted, meat of his palm striking hard against the desk. No one flinched or cared to silence him. In a room among friends, any outburst was welcomed, especially one of their allied king.

Gwendal gave a concentrating frown at Yuuri's demand, brow creased permanently in concern. In attendance in the seating room were Sir Bersi Veleif and Wolfram among the normal cast of personal retainers who accompanied Yuuri in his political forays. Murata's own down turned stare had hints of Gwendal's anxieties. The serving of tea and sandwiches set on the short table among the chairs and sofa remained untouched.

"Shibuya, as was explained before, Trebic rules by blood and marriage. The reason the Big Cimarron general married Wolfram is the same reason why the next king must. Wolfram is the last-"

"You're right, I have heard it before, and I'm telling you it's not happening!" Yuuri looked to Conrad for support, finding the soldier's jaw set and hands straight to his sides like the military man he was. It was his stance for when things were outside his control. Yuuri strengthened his resolve and turned to the Trebic consult. "What would they have done if Wolfram had died too? Why can't they just do that now instead?"

Bersi frowned, scratching at his beard. "Because he _is_ alive. Please understand that I have no real desire to marry him or even to be king for that matter. But I want certain things for my country and I trust myself more than the others in the court to continue in the path our king set for us. To that end we are in agreement."

Yuuri stared at Wolfram, his friend avoiding his gaze with the turn of his head. "When exactly were you going to tell me?"

Wolfram said nothing, still ordered to silence, eyes refusing to look.

The king put his hands to his head, pulling on his dark hair in frustration. "This is not happening. It's just not. I could see him staying here for a little while, maybe coming back and visiting or making sure the reconstruction was going well but not this again."

"It is.. an unfortunate burden," Bersi said. The older man had large bags under his eyes from long nights of related discussions. "As it stands, however, it is not a matter for which we require Shin Makoku's permission. Wolfram's consent is all that has been required for this particular arrangement."

Yuuri put his hands down on the table again. He needed to move. He needed to act. He needed to do anything but just stand around being told there was nothing he could do. "Well what were the other options? We'll make it work."

"Well, there was one-Ohf!" Bersi rubbed at his chest where Wolfram's fist had struck him, blonde glaring at him dangerously.

Yuuri stared at them in utter confusion. There _was_ a way and Wolfram didn't want him to hear about it; had even chosen this instead. Why? He waited for Wolfram to look his way but his green eyes fell to the floor instead, glancing only for a moment to see that he was still raptly held in his attention before turning away sharply.

Gunter leaned forward from his seat, elbows resting on his knees. "If there are alternatives, I think we would like to hear them. Even if this is an internal matter, Shin Makoku still has a large investment in Wolfram's safety and future."

Yuuri single-mindedly ignored the continued conversation. "Wolfram," he called. The prince consort still did not look at him. Yuuri walked over and stood directly at his feet, hands clamping down on his shoulders. "Wolfram, stop it! You can't talk to me and now you won't even _look_ at me? I'm trying to bring you home! Why are you working against me?!"

Wolfram's face snapped forward to face him, eyes narrow and nearly hidden under the veil of his long lashes. His anger was palpable and fire hot. Yuuri could not recall any action he'd taken which would bring such anger against him. "Please," he begged, voice lower and softer. "Just let me heal you. I need to speak with you, this is too important." He slid his right hand along his shoulder, fingers curling along his neck.

Wolfram turned his head away.

"Wolfram, will you stop acting like a brat and just let me do this?!"

"You com-" Yuuri's hand came down over Wolfram's mouth, silencing the inhuman crackle of sounds that had crawled from his damaged throat. It was horrendous. The water in Wolfram's eyes betrayed the pain of even so little spoken. His breath was heavy behind his hand.

Yuuri bent his forehead to meet his, hands still clasped around his mouth and neck as he concentrated his power into him. "Please, don't. I'm sorry. And I promise I will sleep all the rest of today and tomorrow and on the whole voyage home if you just please, please, please don't pull away. Please let me do this. Please."

Wolfram's breath was quick and short at first but gradually slowed. His hands grabbed him by the shirt but did not force him away. Yuuri did as he recalled to do, wishing for more of Julia's skill in the way Murata could learn from his previous incarnations. He let the maryoku flow through him, begging it to soothe and repair what was unseen but in ruin. He could make it better. He could fix it. He did not stop until he felt Murata tap him on the shoulder, a subtle signal that he'd done enough and needed to let it rest. Yuuri stood up slowly, light headed, as he let his hands fall away from Wolfram's skin.

The bruises around his lips were gone but the fire still burned bright in his eyes. Wolfram let go of his grasp on his shirt, pushing him away instead, perhaps harder than he had intended as the king stumble back slightly against Murata. "Don't you ever handle me like that again."

The voice was rough still but once again sounded as the one that belonged to him. Yuuri let out a long, shaky breath of relief and desperation. "I'm sorry. I just needed... 'm sorry. Sorry." He fell into the nearest chair, face in his hands as he felt the waves of dizziness ride past him. It could wait. Everything could wait. Everything but the task of bringing Wolfram home.

Bersi coughed in the resounding silence which had hung pregnant in the air after the former fiances' exchange. "Ah..., Lord Christ, there is in fact only one other option. Even considering that, however, Wolfram would still need to remain as Prince Consort until the heir was of a rightful age."

"There is an heir?" Gwendal's surprise betrayed the slightest hint of relief.

Bersi nodded. "Yes, through Prince Alfgeir."

"If he has an heir then why have you decided to go this route?" Gunter's face as cross with confusion. "Surely in the time before the child is legally appointed as king you would still have the power to affect the political direction Trebic takes."

"A queen, actually. And yes, we'd rule much the same until that day."

Problem solved, solution granted, everything fine and dandy accept for the most important part: Wolfram would rather marry Bersi. Yuuri looked up from his hands. "I don't understand. Why?"

Wolfram looked at him for the space of several heartbeats, expression sliding from anger to grim acceptance as he leaned forward in his seat. "Yuuri, he has an heir through me. Through us."

The same feeling of dread that had seized him on the dance floor fell on Yuuri again, cold and empty and utterly out of his depth. His hands shook slightly and he clamped them down against his knees as he stared across the table. Wolfram did not avert his eyes and for all the words that came to Yuuri's mind, the only ones that came out were, "I.. I am so mad at you right now."

"I know."

"How could you get Greta involved?"

"It was never supposed to be like this. There were contingencies planned, we had it all figured out, we never expected-"

"So either you marry Bersi or I have to give up Greta to take your place?" Yuuri could hear the panic in his own voice, the weak tilt to his words that he knew made him every bit the wimp Wolfram claimed him to be.

Bersi interjected, taking pity on the fathers who stared in conflict over the table. "Your Majesty, I assure you, she would not be taking his place. Your daughter would be queen in her own right as the current princess to the crown, not through the necessity of her own marriage. As a human, she is eligible to rule in ways that Wolfram can never be. And by virtue of being the princess of Shin Makoku as well, the strength of the bond between the two kingdoms continues. Of course, appointing her as the queen would require joint approval as there is the matter of joint custody."

"And as she is not in the line for our throne, there is no conflict of inheritance." Gunter sighed, rubbing at his brow.

"I know. It's quiet nearly perfect. But Wolfram did not believe--as seems to be true--that his Majesty would take to the idea."

Yuuri felt himself again become the center of attention but could not bring himself to care. Game over. Restart from saved file. Revert back to before it all had happened and try again. He was tired in body, mind and soul. It was all he could do to keep his gaze locked on Wolfram's--like saying a word over and over and over again until everything lost its meaning and became noise and pixelated dust.

Wolfram sat back, uncrossing his legs. "Can we have a minute alone, please?"

Bersi nodded, patting his knee as he stood along with the others. There was a minutes rustling and footfalls as the men filed out of the room, Conrad the last to leave as he quietly closed the door behind him. Even alone they did not speak nor move, not even after the click of the latch as they waited in silence for words to appear in the spaces where friends and colleagues had now left vacant.

Yuuri placed his face in his hands again. Appearances never mattered in front of Wolfram. "I am so, so mad at you."

"It would have been better if you'd never found out."

"No," Yuuri wiped away tears that were brimming but not allowed to fall. "No, I should know. I should know the choices you have to make or I can't help you. You should have told me, you should have said something or written something or done something, damnit, she's my daughter!"

" _Our_ daughter."

"There was never an ' _us_ '!" Yuuri cringed with his own words, muscles tensing to stand, body pacing. "Do you have any idea how crazy you make me?! What the hell am I supposed to do now?!"

"You don't have to do anything! I'm handling it!" The hurt had brought up Wolfram's hackles. He remained seated but poised to strike like a coiled snake.

The king shook his head, gesturing wildly. "This isn't handling it. Marrying Bersi isn't handling it! Wolfram... damnit, Wolfram!" He turned to him, grabbing on tight to the back of a chair. "I love you!"

Wolfram stared but had no immediate reply. His face betrayed neither surprise nor joy as he simply watched Yuuri watching him. He swallowed, mouth dry. "Since when?" he asked. His voice was hoarse, perhaps from shouting; perhaps emotion.

Yuuri breathed deeply, body shaking. "Since I realized that what I lost when I lost you was so much more than just a friend. And I know... I know you understand what it's like. When you don't see what's right in front of you either because you just don't want to or you just keep telling yourself it's not... I am so, so lucky that I have any chance at all left to tell you how much I need you. How much I want you there with me no matter what. The way we were. Only this time with me not being completely blind."

Wolfram let his head hang, hair obscuring his face. He breathed deep, several long pauses passing between them where thoughts failed to become words. "We could ask her. She's old enough to understand."

"And young enough to decide based on whatever she thinks will make us happiest."

The prince consort nodded, rising from his seat. "It's not a bad life, Yuuri. And I'd be here. With her. She could be with you in the summer and winter and I could have her in the spring and fall. And we could visit in between. Either way... I want that. I don't want marrying again to mean I miss out on being her father."

Yuuri nodded, gravitating towards Wolfram as the other stepped nearer to him. He took his hands first, holding them as they stood several feet apart, neither looking at anything more than where their skin touched. Yuuri pulled him in closer, slowly wrapping his arms around him as Wolfram's hands followed up his arms to wrap around his shoulders. Chest to chest, heart beat to heart beat, breath to breath.

"I love you, Wolfram," Yuuri repeated on a whisper.

Wolfram bent his head, face tucked against his neck. He shuddered with a deep sob that forced its way into the world and past all restraints. His arms tightened around his king, Yuuri's own arms pulling Wolfram tight as the tears washed down his skin and soaked his shirt. He cried unabashedly; clinging, choking. By whatever grief or happiness that brought them, Yuuri accepted every drop and whimper, offering only the concern and care of his own heart to try and mend what was asunder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about Zorashia. I'll touch on that in later chapters.


	22. Chapter 22

They could not stay and wait. Not all of them. Big Cimarron's response to the attack and murder continued to be withheld, no response given and no ideas in the rumor mill as to what word they were likely to hear back. They were waiting, Gwendal supposed, and most seemed to agree. They were waiting to see where Wolfram went, waiting for some chance to still find fault in Shin Makoku even in the wake of their folly. And so the Shin Makoku ships left and again they did so one man short of a victory party. If Yuuri ever heard the phrase "political ramifications" again it would be all too soon and the resulting shout would not at all be misunderstood.

 _What if they attack again once we're gone? What if that's what they're waiting for?_

 _Then we'll fight them again and you'll come back._

 _What if I don't make it back in time?_

 _I'll still be waiting here._

 _I can't keep saying goodbye like this._

 _Wimp. Now you know how we feel when you leave for Earth._

 _Promise me you won't do anything until we figure something out._

 _For as long as we can stall the court, we will_.

 _Wolfram..._

 _Don't say it here. Just go._

  
  
Yuuri had felt the weight of his body in every step he had taken in boarding that ship. He felt every hour of sleep he'd ever missed in his eyes and mind as he watched the featureless horizon behind which distant and familiar shores would someday soon arise.

Conrad leaned against the ship's rails beside him, silent and observant. Of the many things Yuuri needed in his day to day life as king, Conrad fell very high on the list. Even without saying a word, just knowing he was there made it easier to sink in defeat without feeling as though doing so let anyone else down. With Conrad he got to be a human teenager. Most days, that was hard enough.

The soldier smiled without any real cause, a cheerful expression that was as peaceful as it was pleasant. As miserable as Yuuri felt, it was hard to image what secret pleasure was making their departure a happy occasion.

"How can you look so happy when there's no telling what's going to happen?" he asked, face moist with sea spray and bangs lightly pasted to his brow.

Conrad looked almost sheepish as he shifted his weight, right hip resting on the rails. "My king is safe, my brothers are both alive and well, and my kingdom has performed her duties well to her allies. I'm very proud to be a mazoku." He smiled out at the sea. "I'd rather be happy now for the things that I know and have experienced than dwell on the things I don't know and have yet to happen."

Wise words as they were, Yuuri did not have the stomach for them. His mind seemed to remain plagued by insecurities and doubts, all of them suffocating and squeezing the joy out of life. To both his relief and disappointment, Conrad did not say anything more.

It was a quiet trip and a long one, made longer by meetings and think-tanks on what action to take next. Next to Conrad's smile in the list of things Yuuri needed was Gwendal's steady, unshakable dependability and straight forward approach to problems. He could always be trusted to come at things logically and with sound reason and honest though perhaps somewhat pessimistic expectations. It was he who sent the doves to Zorashia for a council upon his return. The struggling country would no doubt have their own thoughts on Bersi's plan. Another possible alliance, another crack to stumble over, it was all a matter of perspective. To Gwendal and even Gunter they were just part of a list of protocols and necessary measures. To Yozak they were tedious desk related tasks he would gladly take no part in. To Murata they were points of interest to which he seemed to listen very carefully to but for the moment remained quite silent. That was why the decision had been so easy.

Yuuri was going home. For as long as was necessary.

The last thing Yuuri wanted to do was to somehow sway the decision in any way. It had to be up to Greta. It had to be her choice--if discussions got so far as to give her one. Gwendal would make sure she was informed and most certainly cared enough about the princess to ensure the sacrifices made were minimal if any. He wouldn't force her hand. He wouldn't lie to her. As he had done with Wolfram, he would simply give the facts as plainly as he knew them and allow for her to do as she felt best. Yuuri knew somehow he'd bias her if he took the task himself, though he was not quite sure in which way. His baby girl a queen in a far away, dangerous kingdom; the person loved marrying someone else out of duty once more. His small family would be stretched out thin, close to being torn apart either way.

Greta would have to decide how she lived the rest of her life. It didn't seem fair to ask of her what even Yuuri still struggled to do for himself.

On Shin Makoku waters, Yuuri pulled Murata to the aft and leapt off with him into the traveling waves. No surprises, all planned in the quiet on the sea, all tasks assigned and time tables set. One of their months and a fortnight, Gwendal had said. That would be the time required to meet and settle with all the countries involved. It didn't give Yuuri much time on Earth but it would have to be enough.

Well, it would be a start at least.

Rising up from the tepid bath water, Yuuri gave a great sigh as he began to untangle his limbs from his friend's, pulling himself out and away from the water as though it might have other ideas for him once again. Murata took the towel from his hand and raked it through his hair as he started to undress from his wet things.

"Let's see.. a month and a half should be a little less than a week here, I guess." He wrapped a second towel around his waist and began wringing out his uniform. "How's your aim getting?"

Yuuri shrugged, dumping his shoes in a sink. "I'd rather go back earlier than later. Maybe five days just to be safe."

Murata nodded.

With their wet things tended to they both emerged from the bathroom. It was dark outside the windows and the lights in the house were off. They'd missed dinner by the looks of things. The clock on the dining room wall read 3:28. Upstairs in Yuuri's room was a dry change of clothes for both of them, something for Murata always stashed away in his closet or drawers for his return ware. It being both too early and too late for his friend to go home for the night, Yuuri gave him some pajama bottoms and set up a sleep mat on the floor for his guest. It was not an unfamiliar set up. Soundlessly as possible so as not to disturb anyone else, the two settled in for bed. A quick nap would do them well in acclimating back to their home time.

"Murata?... What do you think is going to happen?" Yuuri whispered, snuggled down in his own bed and staring up at the ceiling.

Murata shifted under his covers. "I'm sure only Shinou knows. The situation isn't so bad, though. There are far worse people to marry than Sir Bersi Veleif. I thought you liked him."

"I do. As a person."

"Well, he's quite a bit older than Alfgeir had been. You won't have to wait as long for Wolfram to become a widower again."

Yuuri scowled. "That's not very comforting, Murata."

"It should be." Murata sighed, tiredness creeping into his voice. "As far as worst case scenarios go, we're all very fortunate. And considering his new title and reputation, I don't imagine it being too difficult now for Wolfram to travel as he wishes. It won't be like it was before. His resolve has been tested and as far as Trebic is concerned, he's loyal to them and Shin Makoku will honor their alliance."

Sometimes he hated it when Murata was right. The cold way in which he made everything make sense was limiting and alienating and infuriatingly simple. It made Yuuri feel bad for being as worried as he was. Things were hardly ever that simple in his own head.

"I told him I love him."

"I figured you had. What did he say?"

"He cried."

Murata gave pause, silent for so long Yuuri wondered if he'd already fallen asleep. But Murata waited, thoughts spinning, before quietly reminding him, "Time is different for us and Mazoku. If you have to wait ten of their years, it's closer to two of our own. And for Wolfram, ten years is nothing in comparison to his lifetime. However bad it seems, divide it by half and then half again. That's the real size of your problem. That's not so bad, is it?"

"Two years is still a lot more than zero."

"No one said he'd come home and you two would begin some heated romance at the first pitch. Maybe it takes two years even then for him to be ready to move on."

"He didn't love him."

"He was still his friend and lover."

Yuuri cringed. He hated that word. He hated the mental images he'd just as well live his whole life without imagining. He felt like a child for being so disgusted by just a word. He was 16, he could handle the fact that adults did adult things. But it was very different when the adult was Wolfram--not even really an adult; just as foolish and brash and likely to do something in the heat of the moment as Yuuri himself was.

"Go to bed, Shibuya. Five days are going to fly by."

They were. They always did. Despite Murata putting everything into perspective, it was still going to be the hardest five days he'd had to wait in a long time.

\---

 

It felt good to be home, more so as the days went on and his mother and brother let up on their inquisition and allowed Yuuri to vegetate and unwind like every other boy his age. With his feet tucked into a blanket and his body cocooned in the corner of the couch, Yuuri felt like just maybe he really could unravel and just forget for a moment everything that had happened. With the television on in an insulated room illuminated by glass bulbs secured in the ceiling, it was usually pretty easy to move past one life's medieval troubles and become immersed in the day-by-day of the world he was born into. He could forget it in the two and a half hours necessary to watch a movie. He could overlook his own concerns in the time it took to ride his bike to the store or school. He could be preoccupied enough to not recall the pressing concerns of his other life so long as the stark contrast between the two gave little to remind him of the other. It was cowardly, he knew, but having been raised as just another Japanese school boy, it was hard to abandon the simplicity and comfort of simply going home when everything felt a mess.

His mother brought out a steaming mug of tea with a peppermint striped handle and set it down on the coffee table in front of him, her own mug of pink paisley cradled in her palms as she took up purchase of the other corner of the couch. "What are we watching?"

Yuuri looked at the screen, not really remembering what it was he was looking at. It was an American dubbed film but not one he was familiar with. He hadn't bothered to flip through the channels, just turned on the set and got comfy. "You can change it. I'm not really watching it."

"I think I know that actress. Is this a romantic comedy?"

Yuuri shrugged, picking up his mug and bringing it to his lips. Even something as simple as tea reminded him of his home, the warm mixture of leaves, herbs or fruits unlike the simple or simply native drinks of Shin Makoku. Every sensory stimuli said this was home, this was where he belonged. But it did not help with the ache in his chest.

"Ah, it is! I love these. Yuu-chan never watches these with his Mama. Let's watch together!"

It was very low on his list of wants but with nothing else planned, Yuuri nodded and sipped his tea. "Alright, I'll watch for a bit. I think this is really more Shori's kind of thing, though."

This mother smiled brightly, bubbling over with happiness as she wiggled her feet under Yuuri's thighs for warmth. He imagined this was what it was like to have a little sister as he adjusted, letting her keep her feet burrowed as he handed over a bit of the blanket. Miko sighed with contentment and wiggled her way into the cushions loudly, getting settled in her own time as the movie continued on past commercials of snacks and soft drinks.

"Ah, Yuu-chan, look! New York!" She pointed at the screen as though he might think to look out the window for the skyscrapers and busy streets instead. "Do you remember New York? Surely you remember Boston."

Yuuri shook his head. "Not like Shori does."

"Mah, it was so busy!" She wiggled her toes, bumping against his legs. "Your mama had to take care of everyone in such a place! No friends, no family. Just me and the love of my life." She sighed as she settled in again, swallowing hot tea and smiling to herself. "It still seems impossible to have been so young and naive and raising a family so far away. Your mama is very brave, Yuu-chan. That must be where you get it from."

"I know mom. I've heard the stories."

"And now Yuu-chan knows what it's like too."

The young man paused for a moment, mind flipping through the many oddball things his mother had said to him before that had been surprisingly helpful in Shin Makoku. They had all been random words of wisdom, though, not retellings of her own life lessons. The United States was certainly not a whole 'nother world but it was a world away, a different culture, a different language. She hadn't gone over and been told her was suddenly the President but she was a mother, in charge or taking care of more lives than just her own. She had gone for love and staid for love even when she wanted to come back to what had always been home. He looked at his mother, not seeing her as the older woman she was now but one 15 years younger with nothing but her faith in humanity and love of his father to get her through hard times away from home. That feeling was not something he expected anyone to really understand. Even as she sat with her eyes wide and excited as the American actors played out on the screen, inside there was a kindred spirit whom he could relate to. His own mother. Sometimes he wondered just how far reaching Shinou's powers were.

The lead actress was flailing around, making a fool of herself in front of handsome actor number one to the jealousy of handsome actor number two. It was dull and trite but his mother giggled and spoke to the television to try and help the helpless woman. Yuuri cleared his throat, not at all interested in the plot. "Mom, about America. How did.. I mean.. I know you and dad argued and it was kind of rough but was it worth it?"

"Worth it?" She batted her long lashes, innocent confusion over her mature face. "Of course it was worth it. We had a lovely time. And that was where Yuu-chan was born. You're an American citizen, you know."

He really, really did not need to be a citizen of any more countries.

"Ah, but I guess when you're older you can change that." Miko drank her tea, oblivious in perception but Yuuri wondered how observant she really could be. She smiled at him, closed eyed and bright. "Going to America with your Papa gave you and Sho-chan so many opportunities. Even if Mama was homesick or lonely or sad, it was always worth it to be with the family I made. That's very important so make sure you remember, Yuu-chan. You have two families: the family that made you and the family you make. No matter what happens, the family that made you will always be there to welcome you home. And even if you have to go away for a long time, even if you break your mama's heart, mama will always have a place for you to come home to."

Yuuri smiled slightly, hand on the blanket that covered her ankles. "And what about the family I make?"

"Well, you can make your family anywhere you want. And then Mama can visit! Oh, and speaking of visits, when are the others coming again? I was hoping to take Wolfram shopping. Did he have his big fancy wedding already? I saw a dress I think he'd look beautiful in!"

Yuuri's chest felt tight again. The last he'd told his mother--that _Murata_ had told her--had been of events from before even the Caloria ball. Before the fighting and the kiss and the murder and battles. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. "Ah.. well... things have changed. There's not going to be a wedding." Not in Trebic if he had anything to say about it.

Miko sat up, stretching out to him with her arms. "What do you mean no wedding?! Then when does Yuu-chan get to ride in on a white horse and say 'I object!' and carry his fiancé away?"

"Mom, this isn't a romance novel!" He gave her a pout, more for his own foolishness at having dreamed up the same thing than in annoyance at her. "Wolfram's husband is dead. Things got really bad before I came home. They're mostly okay now but.. well, Wolfram's not home yet. They're working on that. I came home just so I didn't want to haunt the hallways forever waiting for some kind of resolution."

Television forgotten, Miko had her elbows propped on her knees, cheeks pressed on her palms as she gave him every ounce of her attention. "Does that mean Yuu-chan will be marrying Wolf-chan again?"

Yuuri burned red. At least he never had to worry about his mother's reaction to anything that might happen between them. "No, well, I mean... we.. I... uh... " That didn't mean it was easy. He coughed, clearing his throat and feeling warmth rising further up his cheeks. "There's kind of.. an understanding. I guess. I mean, I kind of.. well... love... him?" It wasn't a question but his voice tilted up into one, back tense and waiting for some kind of response. "I mean, I think I do... he's just.. really important to me, you know?"

She nodded, grin running from ear to ear and doe eyes staring into him with keen interest.

He sighed, hanging his head. "I kissed him."

That did it. In seconds his mother was pulling on his arm, bouncing gleefully on the couch. "Yuu-chan, tell Mama everything! What was it like? What did he say? What did you say? What happened next?"

"Mom, calm down! It's not a big deal." More accurately, it was a humongous deal that had him nervous and wary. It redefined his sexuality, was an important milestone in his teenage life, and the fact that Wolfram more than returned his feelings made for a world of possibilities he'd previously ran from like a frightened child from a ravenous wolf. He looked at the ceiling, the television, anywhere but his mom's flashing eyes and eager smile.

"So, was it you who saved him from this husband character who took him away?"

"Ah... no. He got killed by some bad guys. And he really was an okay person, I guess. I mean.... well, Wolfram thought of him as a friend or.. something."

"Oh. Is he very sad, then?"

"Wolfram? Ah.... Maybe. He just sort of seemed really serious most of the time I saw him. There was still a lot going on." Even as he said it, he felt guilty. He knew Wolfram better than that, knew the man who wore his heart on his sleeve well enough to tell when it was his brave front worn for court rather than the genuine face of his friend. Kissing the skull seemed theatrical and over-the-top but it was far closer to the truth than the smile he wore at the dance that same night. With everything that had happened, he couldn't even really say for sure he knew why Wolfram had cried in his arms after his confession; happiness, weariness, sadness. Maybe it was all of it. Why hadn't mattered why as much as it had that they were together. He only wished the clarity he felt in moments of certainty lasted longer than the hours that proceeded them. He loved him _maybe_. He wanted to go out with him _probably_. He was afraid of commitment  definitely. It was a funny thing to learn about himself and not his favorite bit of self-reflection.

Miko picked up the television remote and muted the program, wiggling her toes under his thigh again to keep his attention. "So, when is my baby going to leave me? You have to give me plenty of warning or I'll cry for days."

"I... I don't know." Yuuri sank into his corner, nestled under his blanket. "I keep thinking I should at least finish high school but what's the point? Really, I want to finish school so I can make something of myself here. So I can still come back if I don't want to live my whole life in Shin Makoku. I'm pretty much planning my escape route before I've even decided to commit myself to my position as king. No, that's not... I _am_ committed to being a good king. I want to spend my whole life doing what is right for my people... but I'm not ready to.. grow up, I guess; to be a king forever and not come home anymore and be a regular kid."

"But if you don't stay in Shin Makoku, you can't marry Wolfram and live happily ever after."

"Mom, there is so much more to it than just what happens to Wolfram and me."

"Well, maybe there shouldn't be." She leaned up into his personal space, searching him in a way that was very uncomfortable. "You never know if you can fly until you jump, Yuu-chan. Mama will help you leave the nest if she has to."

He groaned, trying to hide under his blanket. "I'm not a bird, Mom."

"No, you're from the demon tribe and my boys were both born with very special wings that only I can see. So you just have to trust me when I say they're there." She gave him a sly wink, poking him on the tip of his nose. "I know you'll be okay because you are so much like your dear Mama. I got engaged very soon after meeting your father too!"

Yuuri's jaw dropped as he searched for some way to comment, some strong piece of logic that very surely showed how very different their circumstances were from each other. But all he could think of was how much they weren't. They both became engaged almost immediately to the people they loved, hardly knew them at all, foolishly followed them all the way across the world to be together, started a family... "Oh god, I'm going to grow up to be you..."

Miko threw her arms around him, giving him a great big hug despite his protests. "That's why Mama understands! You can do it, Yuu-chan! Just forget about every scary or uncertain thing in your head and follow your instincts!"

It sounded so much easier said than done. His mother was and would always be a hopeless romantic but the echo of his own experiences in hers made him almost want to believe it was that simple.

"Why don't you tell Mama all about it? There was a ball, right? Start there. I want to hear all about the beautiful party and what happened!"

Despite his reservations and how odd it felt to talk so openly about so personal a thing as the last few weeks for him had been, Yuuri did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. First my laptop battery died, then my charger did as well so I ended up with a nice, rectangular paper weight until after the holidays. Now I am sick which is why this chapter is pretty meh but I wanted to get something out. Wish I’d written it better as I was pretty excited about the Yuuri and Miko chat but here it is regardless. More as soon as this sinus infection clears up and leaves my head alone.
> 
> ~Niko


	23. Chapter 23

It seemed like spring would never come. Despite the weather slowly turning warmer in Shin Makoku, it was still stubbornly winter for Japan. It made picking out the perfect present for Greta difficult. Clothes, they had all decided--Murata, his mother and himself--were the best presents to give a little girl. Most toys were too synthetic and foreign, too obviously from Earth. While it was hardly a secret that he was from another world, flaunting it with technological advances like battery powered video game consoles was not the way to go. All the clothes were sweaters and coats, all cute but no longer in season. The rain boots were precious but he could not remember her size. Style was another issue. Yuuri took to looking in the Lolita shops at little girl's clothes, gaining plenty of odd stares. For his daughter it didn't matter and besides, ff he was going to grow up to be his own mother, me might as well discover the joy of dressing up his child in the most gaudy, frilly things he could find.

He found a small, bright red party dress with white lace and ribbons like cake decorations circling the poofy skirt. Layers of petticoat fluff hung down in ruffles; the stockings were trimmed in lace. Pink, not red, would suit Greta best but if she was going away, even if only to visit Wolfram in Murata's worst case scenario, maybe she would like to match her other father. He took the red dress off the rack and continued on, trying to stay away from the gothic selections and focus on sweet and classic. In the few hours he'd spent, he'd learned quite a bit about Lolita fashion. It was at least good to know manly men like Yozak would be far more interested than he was as he browsed through pink plaid and white ruffles. He could have sworn he'd seen Wolfram in a few of the dresses, or maybe it was just the cut and style that reminded him of the fiery mazoku who cross-dressed perhaps a little too well. Even if he hated it, there was no denying Wolfram would have made a beautiful woman.

The shop was nearly empty as Yuuri walked the isles and stared up at the hanging items along the tall walls. He'd drifted from the younger girl sizes at a passing glimpse of pink lace clinging to a mannequin's body with nighttime ruffled bonnet and thigh high stalkings. Yuuri pulled one larger size from the rack and held it up against himself, using his own body type as a quick stand in for Wolfram's in front of a store mirror. It was a little high on his thighs, intended to be paired with bloomers, but Yuuri thought it would look rather good even without them on his friend. The sales clerk's giggle as he scrutinized his reflection turned him scarlet before quickly shoving the garment in his basket and turning around, hastily going back to Greta's sizes and praying the clerk never mentioned what she had seen to a soul. It was his luck when she was the maid at the counter, knowing smile on her face. He almost wished she _did_ know. Then maybe he wouldn't feel like a giant pervert caught red handed.

"Are you sure about these sizes? We have a dressing room if you'd prefer to try them on."

Yuuri shook his head hard, quite sure there was no blood left anywhere but in his face. "N-No! Not necessary. They're for a friend. And my daughter. His daughter--I mean her's! I mean... can you gift wrap these please?"

The maid smiled at him, circle lenses making her eyes large and doll like as she gently folded the dresses and nightgown and boxed them delicately. He had never left a store that quickly or with his head ducked so low in all his life.

Savings spent, Yuuri road home with several bags hanging from his handlebars, careful to hide the store's logo so that it did not face out too much. He took the long way that took him far around the baseball diamond. Even if it was not baseball season, he did not want to risk being seen ridding along with these particular presents in tow.

Today was the fifth day.

Yuuri was not in the least bit surprised when he came home to the chattering of gossips. Murata was just as bad as his mother when the subject suited him and with a whole mountain of details to dish on, and judging by the shrillness of his mother's voice, there was more than enough to entertain them both.

"I'm home!" he announced, exchanging his shoes for a nice, warm pair of house slippers.

"Yuu-chan! You never told me you were wounded in battle!"

Groaning, Yuuri shuffled his way into the hallway, shaking his head at his friend who smiled sheepishly, already digging in to his specially prepared lunch.

"If it wasn't for Ken-chan and Sho-chan, I wouldn't get to hear any of the good stuff!"

"I told you plenty of the ' _good_ ' stuff!" He flopped down in his chair at the dining room table, hanging his bags off the one next to his. "And it's not ' _good_ ' stuff, anyway! Getting shot is ' _bad_ ' stuff."

Miko waved her spatula in the air. "Good stuff, bad stuff, either way, if anyone ever shoots at my boy again I'll run him through!"

Yuuri made sure Murata caught his annoyed stare between bites. It was the best way to say ' _I told you so_ ' without leading them into a long discussion over it. He leaned back in his chair as his mother placed a plate of warm food on the table in front of him, stomach growling slightly with the promise of one last home cooked meal. This would be the first time he left with no real promise of coming home. When he'd get to sit at the table and eat his mother's home cooking again was dependent on how life went, no real thought given to how many minutes made up the hours between Home A and Home B. His family had taken the idea surprisingly well. It gave credence to Murata's explanation that Yuuri was the only one uncertain of his future. How everyone else seemed to have figured it out first was still a miracle of foresight to Yuuri, though.

"Did you go shopping, Yuu-chan?" Miko played with the shopping bags, eyes lighting up as the shop's logo flashed into her vision. "Yuu-chan! Without me? You went to a Lolita store without your mama!?"

The blush he'd left behind at the shop crept back up his neck, turning his ears bright red. "I didn't take you because I know how you'd get! It's not a big deal, it's just a few things for over there. Uh.. I need them sealed in that waterproof stuff you had last time, though."

Miko clutched the bags near her chest and hurried off with them.

"Just don't open the-" He stopped, letting his chin fall to his palm. Who was he kidding? He considered himself lucky that at least in this instance his mother knew Wolfram well enough to not assume the larger sized items were for himself. He pushed his food around on his plate and ate.

Murata chuckled around a mouthful of peas. "You have to bring Greta sometime. Mama will be so happy she may never let you go again."

"You mean she might not let Greta go." Yuuri grumbled slightly. There were enough people trying to take Greta from him as it was. He didn't need to add his mother to the ranks. "Remind me never to leave you alone with my mother again."

"We didn't talk about you the whole time."

"Of course not. You have to save time to talk about her cooking." He kicked his foot playfully under the table, continuing to eat his lunch slowly as to savor each bite.

They were both stuffed and satisfied when Miko brought the water-sealed boxes back, smile wide on her face and sure proof of guilt. At least she seemed to like his selections. "Should I put these in the bathroom so you don't forget them?"

Yuuri nodded, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah, that's fine. Thank you."

She hurried off, returning to offer them more food but neither could eat another bite. "If you stay till tonight I can make you some curry," she offered.

"Mom, thanks, but we'll probably go in a little bit." He burped into his fist. Perhaps he'd eaten a little too much this time.

Miko frowned, wringing at her apron. "Well, do you need underwear? Or maybe a toothbrush? What about photographs? Mama can find you a picture of us for you to take with you."

Yuuri started to dismiss her offers but stopped with the last, finding his eyes drifting to Murata for confirmation.

"Well," the sage began, "they don't have photography as such but you can always explain it as a very good painting to anyone who asks."

Yuuri smiled and turned back to his mother. "A photo sounds great."

Again she rushed out of the room, more packing, more water proofing. By the time Yuuri and Murata were ready to go, Miko had managed to pack for him a stack of items nearly three feet tall sitting on the side of the tub.

"Mom, wha-"

"Oh, just a few extra things. Don't worry, you won't have to carry them. I'll just throw them in like I did last time. Just make sure you don't leave any behind."

Yuuri pouted but didn't argue. The bath water was ready. Murata stepped on in, taking an armful of plastic wrapped boxes to help as Yuuri followed suit. His mother gave him a big hug and kiss, pushing more boxes into his arms least he forget even one.

"Your wings looks very strong today," she told him, winking as she took a step back and loaded herself up with ammunition to toss after them. "Okay, I'm ready!"

"Just try not to actually hit us." Somehow he was sure there would be some bruises either way. He smiled slightly at his mother, too embarrassed to tell her he loved her in front of Murata but sure all the same that she knew. Not one for long goodbyes he let the water open below them and felt the first pow of a box as it smacked him in the face and the pull of the other world as it sucked him down by his feet. Murata's chuckle was swallowed by the water but Yuuri thought he still heard a quiet yelp of surprise to accompany the last splash.

Travel was quick. In moments they were sitting in the fountain of the temple, surrounded by floating boxes and bags like the flotsam of a lost ship. Murata was rubbing at a welt on his cheek.

"Nice catch," Yuuri commented, smiling just a little at the just desserts.

Murata chuckled once more, pulling up one of the stowaway mementos and holding it out between forefinger and thumb. "Well, at the very least we got most of them."

Yuuri nodded, rolling around in the water to pick them all up and set them on the stone lip. Two, four, seven in a stack all safe and dry inside their plastic envelopes. He caught a flash of red as he set them down and looked up, expecting to see the priestesses in their hurry to help their Great Sage. Instead of robes or a skirt there were trousers, though, and thin legs arching up to narrow hips, sword holstered to the side with an elegant uniform jacket laying under the black leather straps. Yuuri felt himself go dumb, staring with his mouth slightly ajar and mind whirling with possibilities.

Wolfram planted his hands on his hips, bending down at the waist to mock the soaked king. "It's about time you showed up."

Yuuri did not so much leap from the fountain as somehow end up with his arms flung around his friend several feet from the fountain's edge in the blink of an eye. Wolfram tensed and stood perfectly still for a moment before relaxing into the welcoming embrace, returning it with much more decorum. Conrad chuckled as he watched them, himself collecting the strange stash of carry-ons the two Earthlings had brought with them.

Yuuri took hold of Wolfram's shoulder's and held him at arms length, getting a good look at his face which was fuller and rosier than it had been on the last occasion he'd seen him. "When did you get here? What are you doing here?"

"I got here a few days ago. Brother wanted Trebic, Shin Makoku and Zorashia to meet to discuss the joint national interests in Greta. Bersi and I decided I would be the best representative we could send." Wolfram smiled, hands resting shyly on Yuuri's hips. "I'll be staying as a guest for the next three weeks or until a decision has been made. I'm glad you finally decided to join us."

As was Yuuri. He pulled Wolfram in for a hug again, giving him one last hard squeeze before finally letting him go. He hated Wolfram's reluctance but with priestesses, big brothers and in more or less an open arena, he supposed there was some cause for remaining more private about certain things. The four of them loaded up the horses with Miko's expertly wrapped packages though Murata declined to go with them to Blood Pledge. He was going to have a good, long chat with a certain original king. Yuuri felt rather inclined to do the same but did not want to waste any further time in getting caught up with events and people he had missed.

Wolfram and Yuuri road side by side with Conrad taking the lead. There was still the distinct impression he was listening in on them but neither seemed to mind. Conrad was as non threatening to their conversation as the birds that had returned to the budding trees were. On horseback, in the sunlight, Wolfram looked radiant, his presence glowing with a regal air. He could see every bit of what the Ten Nobles had known was there when they'd elected their almost 28th Maou. Power and position suited him. Yuuri still preferred him in his home colors of blue, though.

Wolfram caught him staring and raised an eyebrow in question. Sheepishly, Yuuri rubbed at the short hairs at the back of his neck, smiling. "Sorry. It's just that you look so much better than you did the last time I saw you. Looks like you've made a full recovery."

Wolfram nodded. "Thanks in part to your bullying, I'm sure."

" _My_ bullying?!"

"Gisela was just as bad. The instant she thought she could get me alone she grabbed me and dragged me off for a full examination. Between you and Gunter, I think she was convinced Trebic doctors are a bunch of barbaric maniacs."

"I didn't even see Gisela before I left! That's not my fault; that's Gunter one-hundred percent!" Yuuri flailed slightly, not one bit of guilt at throwing Gunter under the bus. "But she said you were okay? No lasting side effects?"

"She said if anything it might have increased my tolerance to houseki. No negative side effects, though." Wolfram paused at the sound of Conrad clearing his throat, a sign of some sort which made the blonde grumble and pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Alright, fine. She also said I'm _pregnant_."

Yuuri nearly fell off his horse, stumbling over his words more quickly than Ao stumbled under his constantly shifting weight. "You're what?! But--I--How--You--And--But--" His mind raced, his pulse knocked frantically against his ribs, his body was one tight knot of stress. He watched Conrad's shoulders bounce with a private laugh. How was that in any way funny!

Wolfram scowled at his brother. "I told you it wasn't a very good joke."

Joke? Yuuri spoke around a breath lodged in his throat. "Wait, so.. you mean..."

"Don't be so naive, Yuuri. You know it doesn't work that way." Wolfram's chiding tone and rolling eyes at least put his sincerity to rest.

"You're both terrible," he shouted, though he would wager a bet that back home there was a certain cross-dressing spy who deserved the larger share of the blame. It was much more in the scope of the antagonistic man's humor. "I think I almost swallowed my tongue."

"Well, at least you're not disappointed."

"Conrad, why would I be disappointed?"

The soldier shrugged. "Well, it would have meant we wouldn't have to deal with all the issues of providing an heir for Trebic."

"Yes, blame me and my lack of reproductive foresight." Wolfram sat back in his saddle, brimming with attitude and ready to bare it all down on his brother.

Yuuri looked between the two, quite sure he no longer had any idea what was going on anymore. "So, wait... where do mazoku babies come from exactly?"

The incredulous look Wolfram gave him was enough to verify that that feeling of utter stupidity was well warranted. Yuuri looked away, gazing anywhere but in the line of sight of ivy eyes as Conrad's shoulders bounced again with nearly uncontrolled laughter.

Yuuri was still warm from the flush when the horses entered the stone gates of Blood Pledge Castle. He scooped Greta into his arms as she came sailing towards him, her little arms snagging him around the neck and hugging to him tight. Yuuri held her there, patting her back. "I'm home," he whispered against her waves.

"Welcome home, Yuuri!" She pulled back, smile bright as ever. "Wolfram finally came home too! Gwendal said I can sleep in his bed as long as I want!"

Wolfram dismounted close to them, smiling his normal proud father smile as he handed over his reins and came to stand at Yuuri's side. Yuuri stood up straight, Greta's hand in his. "Well, I don't want to bribe you away from him but I did bring a present for you from Earth this time."

Her russet eyes grew large as she for the first time took in the packages secured to the horses. She bounced with excitement. "Can I open it now?"

"Soon as we're inside, you bet. Are you going to help me carry them?"

Greta nodded and held her arms out as Conrad stacked a few for her to carry. They all took part in helping, not one noticing the scarlet breasted man with his long beard in a braid that stalked towards them, loudly exhaling his relief.

"Your Majesty!"

Yuuri looked over his shoulder out of habit and saw Wolfram do the same. The blonde scowled slightly, taking a step away from the others as he waited for the approaching man. "You should recognize whose company you're in, Iorund."

"Of course, I apologize, but I have been searching for you everywhere. You cannot simply ride off as you please." The large man came to stop several feet away, bowing slightly to Yuuri though his current train of thought seemed stuck on its rails. "Ah, yes, Your Majesty Yuuri, it is an honor and a pleasure. Please excuse us."

"I'm not to be excused right now. Yuuri's just returned."

"And how happy all of us are that he has. I'm sure he has things he'd like to see to after so long an absence, though."

Yuuri put his packages down and brushed his palms off on his thighs as he joined them. "I don't think we've met before," he said, angling his way into the conversation. He stood shoulder to should with Wolfram as he smiled up at the larger man. "You can just call me Yuuri if you want, I'm not really into all that formality stuff. I take it you're here with Wolfram?"

The man nodded, bowing slightly again. "Lord Iorund Sturla, You Majesty. I am the Prince Consort's retainer on this journey."

"Well, Iorund, you got the easiest job in the world then! There's not one person in this whole castle who would want any harm to come to Wolfram. I hope you can relax and enjoy yourself." Yuuri got the impression from the way the man's face crinkled that following Wolfram around was far from as easy as he imagined. Then again, with Wolfram and he it had always been the other way around.

Iorund stroked his beard absently. "Oh, it's been... enjoyable. However amiable the company, however, there are still protocols to adhere to." His attention turned again to Wolfram. "Riding off without an escort outside the castle walls is dangerous. If you have waited, I would gladly have accompanied you."

"I was with Conrad. I was perfectly safe."

"Sir Weller's job is to protect His Majesty Yuuri. _You_ are _my_ responsibility. Please do not be so reckless in future. A false sense of security is just what our enemies are looking for in order to strike again." Iorund placed his hand on Wolfram's shoulder, face grim as he pleaded with his figurehead.

Wolfram wasn't home again. Not really. Yuuri imagined Shin Makoku like a giant zoo with all its people like little exhibits, there to see but not to be interacted with, the harmless just as untouchable as the dangerous. Wolfram's position in Trebic stretched much further then just the clothes he wore, even while in the land that raised him for eighty-plus years. So close; so far away. Yuuri wanted to take his hand in that odd impulse to show unspoken support.

Perhaps sensing this, Wolfram crossed his arms over his chest, hands tucked in neatly at his elbows. "Perhaps you should work harder at keeping up with me if you're so worried. I have no intention of acting like a frightened beast in my own homeland."

"It's my fault, Lord Sturla. It won't happen again." Conrad bowed his head curtly, arms loaded with Yuuri's plastic wrapped things. "I'll be sure you are kept aware of his movements in the future. I hadn't considered it might be an issue but I understand your concerns."

"Ah.. thank you, Sir Weller. I, uh, appreciate it." Iorund cleared his throat, clasping his hands in front of his diagonal sash of gold. "I don't mean to sound suspicious, surely, it's just.. well, you can never be too cautious, you know. Not in these times." He looked at Wolfram, signs of worry still crinkling his face. "Will you be joining us in the conference room now that you've returned?"

Wolfram hesitated and Yuuri did not care to give him time to answer. "Uh, actually, I brought some things I'd like him to see. And considering what it is that everyone is here to conference about, I think my family needs some time alone. If that's okay."

Iorund's round face said it was not okay. Wolfram side-stepped him, ushering Greta to come along as he began to walk towards the stairs leading up from the common area. "More than that, someone needs to inform Yuuri as to what he's missed so he'll be of some use when he joins us." He waved to him in dismissal. "I won't leave the castle again so go about your other duties."

"Your Majesty, I..." Iorund sighed, shaking his weary head. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Conrad offered him a sympathetic smile as he and Yuuri both followed behind Wolfram and Greta's regal backs.


	24. Chapter 24

It had not taken long to sort through the assorted odds and ends his mother had sent with Yuuri in his travel across worlds. Clothes and photographs had been expected but tooth brush, floss, folded socks and clean underwear put the stamp of motherhood firmly on more than half the packages. He supposed good hygiene in a slightly archaic world was something every contemporary mother worried about. It made him miss her already.

Greta adored her new outfits and paraded in them for her fathers for the better half of the afternoon hours, twirling in her petticoats. She liked matching Wolfram, made him dance with her in her red party dress by a mirror in which she could see them together. Wolfram was attentive to her in ways Yuuri hadn't seen before. Their daughter was always most excited when Yuuri returned, wanting his attention above all others. With Wolfram's absence the most felt, the tables felt turned. Now it was Wolfram she wanted to compliment her and Wolfram whose smiles were highest on her list to capture. Wolfram was only too happy to oblige, his sterner side not necessary in the frivolities of homecoming. Yuuri had always felt that perhaps he himself was the favorite father, the real parent as Wolfram's attachment to the human girl seemed vested in his relationship to the king. Wolfram took everything seriously, though. Fiance or not, he was still very much Greta's father. Yuuri enjoyed getting to sit back and watch them, clapping or cheering as the mood required.

As dinner approached, Conrad moved Yuuri and Wolfram from the bedchamber to a greeting room, Greta free to run off to wash up while her father's remained trapped in their other roles. Protocol and decorum, necessity born of political factors all set to maintain functionality and outward appearances. It was not fitting for dignitaries to be entertained in the king's bedchamber, not unchaperoned and not after dark. The casualties of propriety. Yuuri plopped down in the seating provided, wanting to complain but sure he knew exactly how far that would get them. He'd speak to Gwendal, or that Iorund guy. If he had to have someone else with him every time he wanted to be around Wolfram, if he had to make an appointment for each and every encounter, it was going to be a very long three weeks.

Conrad and red uniformed guards took to post outside the door but at least the door was shut. Wolfram stood by the tall window on the other side of the room, looking out over the gardens his mother still attended to on occasion. The night was still cherry hued and stars were still unseen.

"It was never this big a deal when Sara was around," Yuuri mused, leaning his head back to best watch Wolfram.

"That's because you were never engaged to him or caught kissing him." Wolfram gave him a warning glare. "Or I should hope it was never a matter of simply not getting caught."

Yuuri waved his arms defensively. "No, no, nothing to catch. Sara's just a friend."

Wolfram challenged him with a glare for a moment longer then let it drop and turned back to the gardens below.

"So it's Gwendal who has all this extra security in place, huh? Not your guys? What does Gwendal think is going to happen?"

"Apparently we do impulsive and stupid things when left alone together." Wolfram shrugged. "He's probably worried you'll sleep with me and somehow inadvertently become the king of Trebic too."

Yuuri was quite sure he would never be able to look Gwendal in the face again if that was truly the reason why. In this case, Wolfram did not seem to simply be teasing him, though. Yuuri groaned and slouched down in his seat. "I'm sorry but that is really the absolute worst means of crowning a king."

Wolfram nodded his head but said nothing.

Yuuri wasn't quite sure which was the more insensitive: to say something or to say nothing. He wasn't entirely sure he even knew what _to_ say. He wasn't an idiot. He knew what it had meant when they spoke of Wolfram's second marriage. Maybe not at first, worried as he had been and frantic with the state of things, but in hindsight he knew or felt he did and he was glad the man had gone up in flames at Wolfram's hand. Wolfram still seemed the same to him, didn't act differently or any more so than he had in their brief encounter in Caloria. It was only when he was quiet and aloof that Yuuri wondered where his mind was and what thoughts occupied it. Looking listlessly out the window, Yuuri felt that worried curiosity piqued once more.

Wolfram looked at him, chiding him in his more playful of tones. "Are you afraid I'll disappear if you stop staring at me?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry... I guess I have been staring a lot." Yuuri smiled gently, looking away but still with his body leaning in the corner of his eyes. "I was just thinking. About that general guy. The.. uh.. one you were married to."

The Prince Consort's voice turned cold. "I have to accept that marriage as legal for political reasons only. As far as I'm concerned, I have had only one husband and outside my official capacity I will acknowledge no other."

Yuuri immediately regretted saying anything at all. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, palms sweaty against his knees. "Ah.. no, I understand. I mean, I can imagine. I mean.. no, I really can't imagine. I'm sorry." He turned his face back towards his friend, still unable to look away for too long. Maybe he did worry he'd disappear. "I don't guess you'd want to talk about it. And that's fine. I don't really know how good an ear I'd be or if I'm even the person you'd want to say anything to about it. But I guess I just thought maybe you should know that I know. Or that I think I know. And the only difference it makes to me is how much I hate that guy and how much I admire you with everything that's been happening."

Wolfram did not look at him or say anything. His back seemed straighter, shoulders arching up off his back like a nervous cat. With night continuing to fall, the window's surface was becoming less translucent and more of a mirror, reflecting his troubled face and pinched pout. Yuuri cursed his awkwardness and rose up from his chair, walking slowly over to him and putting his hands gently on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Wolf."

The blonde shook his head. "It's not that." He placed his hand over Yuuri's, looking over his shoulder at him with a shaky smile. "You.. you really _admire_ me?"

It was all Yuuri could do not to whop him on the back of the head or plant his own face in the embroidered rug. He kissed his cheek instead, rolling his eyes. " _That's_ what's got you teary eyed?"

"I'm not teary-eyed, Wimp." He was but doing a fine job of keeping himself in check. He leaned back against Yuuri, allowing the king to snake his other arm around his waist as they stood by the window. Wolfram tugged the drapes to close, green draperies swinging down to hide them from preying eyes.

They'd been friends for so long, Yuuri had wondered what it would be like to try and move past it, what it would take to become more-than-friends. It wasn't too hard if he just tried. There were plenty of things about their friendship he didn't want to lose. He wanted Wolfram to tease him now and then, he wanted to be able to be silly and childish sometimes, he wanted to be able to tease him right back. Just allowing himself to hold someone--not for comfort or aid but just to be close--it made it feel different, like being closer in this way could actually make them closer in others. They'd never touched all that much, even after sharing a bed for so long. Touch had always been the one element missing from their sham of an engagement. Yuuri wasn't all that surprised to discover he liked the feeling of his heat, his weight, the echo of his breath so near. There was even a little bit of thrill in the knowledge that at any minute the door could open and that perhaps even this much would be seen as too intimate for the pair.

Wolfram sighed gently, his exhale felt in the sinking of Yuuri's hand. The king tightened his arm, tucking his chin over Wolfram's shoulder.

"Maybe being king over Shin Makoku and Trebic wouldn't be so bad."

Wolfram elbowed him in his ribs, a shock of mild pain catching Yuuri off guard. "Don't even joke. Zorashia's been campaigning for that from the very start. I need you on my side, not theirs."

"What side? I thought we wanted it to be Greta's decision." The pause in his reply made Yuuri uncertain. He pulled away, tugging at Wolfram to turn and face him like a top spinning on its string. "Wolfram, what do you mean ' _your side_ '?"

He skewed his face, looking both hesitant and persistent as he took a deep breath in preparation. "Bersi and I both think it will be best if Greta becomes queen."

"That's not what you and I said. And Bersi isn't a part of this."

"He's involved enough for his opinion to count," Wolfram said.

"More than mine?" Yuuri shook his head hard, crossing his arms with indignity. "No, Wolfram. I'm not going to make Greta do anything she doesn't want to."

"There's more to it than just that, Yuuri. You said so yourself: going through me to crown a king is a terrible way to go about things."

"I'm not denying I said that or that I feel that way. But-"

"Once Greta is queen, Bersi and I will meet with the nobles to try and establish a new reign of monarchs appointed by the noble class rather than through blood line. Once they agree we will have Bersi elected as the new king and Greta and I will come home." Wolfram paused for a moment, making sure Yuuri was following him fully. "Even if Greta doesn't become queen, this is what Bersi and I have settled on. The only difference is with Greta on the thrown, I don't have to marry anyone."

"But if that doesn't work, Greta's as stuck as you are." Yuuri frowned as he worked his way through the details, not at all happy with the Wolfram's insistence. "You didn't even want to involve her in the first place but now you're actually _trying_ to get her to rule over there?"

"That was before I knew that Bersi was planning to keep Alfgeir's promise to me."

Yuuri paused, a jealous flare still burning at the mention of that name. "What do you mean?"

Wolfram sighed at length, walking away from the drawn window to the loveseat patterned in rose colored leaves. He leaned against the armrest, arms at his sides and ankles crossed. He looked off towards the tapestry handing off the stone wall with a gaze that saw straight through it. "Alfie swore he would never to cheat on me. So to get around his not having an heir, he promised that if and when he became king, he would change the law so that rightful rulers would be crowned by merit and not blood or marriage. Doing so would also abolish the practice of marriage bound alliances since the prolonged ruling powers would rest in the noble class and not one individual." Wolfram smiled softly. "He was very thoughtful. And he thought very highly of you. Well, what I told him of you, anyway. He thought Trebic could benefit a lot if it allowed itself to find fresh ideas and perspectives in the men and women of its country. Maybe one day they'd have a progressive ruler like you who would do just as many great things."

Yuuri wasn't sure what to think of the dead man's praise or sentimental politics. As much as he liked the idea of elected officials, putting Greta anywhere near the throne of a country still living in the threat of further altercations with Big Cimarron made him uneasy and fearful. If she wanted to go, that was one thing. To ask her to go and put her in that position was still not something Yuuri felt he could do.

Yuuri walked over to him, standing a foot apart with his resolution set. "It sounds great, I agree, but it doesn't change the fact that if things don't go according to plan, Greta is stuck there, more so than even you are. I... I can't support that without knowing it's what she wants. And I need you to not try and convince her it is."

Wolfram glared at him. "What exactly do you take me for? I'm not trying to use our daughter to get myself out of this! In order for Greta to even _have_ a choice we have to defend all the alternatives. Zorashia won't budge if they don't feel Greta will be able to return to them to fulfill her own birthright. This is our best argument for how exactly we plan to coordinate these issues!"

"Okay, okay!" Yuuri put his hands up in defense. "I get it. Sorry. I understand that whole countries have to be convinced in all this but as far as I'm concerned, Shin Makoku's stance on this remains that it is inevitably Greta's decision. I'm not going to say I agree or disagree with anyone except for her."

"Is that your official stance, Your Majesty?"

"It's Yuuri, Wolfram. Don't start that. You know how serious this is and I'm taking it seriously." Yuuri put his hand on his shoulder, annoyed when Wolfram refused to look at him. "Officially the only side I am going to take in this is Greta's. _Un_ officially I want to kidnap you both and run away to the mountains where we can live as hermits and raise goats."

Wolfram scowled. "Goats?"

"It could be bearbees. I'm not picky."

The Prince Consort tried not to smirk but failed, shifting his eyes to look at him though he tried to retain his look of indignation.

Yuuri smiled a little. "I'm not going to take any sides, Wolf. I'm sorry. But I do think, if it's what she wants, that it's a good idea. Alfgeir had some good plans and I'm glad Bersi thinks that too."

Wolfram took his hand from his shoulder and held it in both of his, hanging his head so his golden bangs obscured his face. "Well, if you're not going to help me convince Zorashia, what are you going to be doing?"

"Well, there's never been a shortage of things for me to do in the past. Shin Makoku still needs to be kept running smoothly and Greta still needs someone to play with." He gave his hands a squeeze. "I also need to try and court you right from under Gwendal's nose. That will keep me occupied."

"You're going to what?" Wolfram let go of his hand, eying him suspiciously.

Yuuri looked at the ceiling, trying to keep from looking like a nervous teenager with his books still clasped hip height. "Well, I mean... you know. On earth we call it dating and it's just... a period of time when you get to know someone."

"You already know me, Yuuri."

"Not like this."

Wolfram leaned forward, hand sliding up against his chest. Yuuri swallowed hard at the look caught in the emerald gaze, feeling his heart beat harder against the sturdy palm. "Like this you mean?" Wolfram's voice was huskier, lashes fanning the flames in his eyes.

Yuuri swallowed again, lips parting on instinct as he nodded wordlessly and leaned forward, watching Wolfram tilt his head just slightly as he closed the gap between them.

The door opened. Yuuri felt the hard shove and the unforgiving floor as he crashed down on it on his tailbone. From his new location on the rug, Yuuri could see Conrad standing at the door, eyes searching between them and the arch of his brow leaving few questions to be answered.

Wolfram stood up straight, pulling his uniform into place. "Are we expected in the dining room already?"

Conrad smirked, leaning on the doorknob. "You are. Lord Sturla has been asking for you specifically."

Wolfram nodded, looking down at Yuuri who has still refrained from rising. "It's not going to get any easier," he warned him.

Yuuri smiled all the more, confidence brimming within him. "I have three weeks to try."


	25. Chapter 25

Work was dull. Outside the occasional report of bandit attacks, Shin Makoku was experiencing a restful time of tranquility punctuated by fairs and fetes. Yuuri had listened to Gunter recite the requests for his appearances at these events--Karbelnikoff, Rochefort, and unsurprisingly Spitzweg--but sent them all his apologies. Nothing was going to take him away from the capital so long as Wolfram was there and the final ruling on Greta's future remained undecided.

The only bit of news to pique his interest was the word from Big Cimarron, sent weeks ago by their time but still new and unheard by him. The general had gone maverick, they took no responsibility and wished Trebic all the best. Yuuri hated their cowardice as much as he was relieved that the conflict would not grow. A maverick general did not sail in and overthrow an entire country with arms and ships supplied only by the conviction of his men. Gunter agreed but there was nothing more to say on the matter. As far as the world was concerned, Big Cimarron had done nothing wrong and Trebic's calamity was simply a misfortune of prejudice. By the size of the stack of letters inquiring in regards to a military alliance with Shin Makoku, it was obvious at least some kind of message was made very clear: no one messed with Yuuri's friends.

With the worst of his piles combed through, there was at last nothing left to keep Yuuri from his most pressing of assignments: how to get Wolfram alone. It was impossible to date surrounded by the prince consort's brothers and retainers who would scrutinize, judge and likely even object to the attention and affection Yuuri fully intended to display. He had to prove to Wolfram he was serious. In some ways, he needed to prove it to himself as well. It was a big decision, not one to be made lightly, and as much as his heart felt sure his mind still kept its doubts.

He walked down the corridors, hands clasped behind his back in his thinking posture as he paced through the gardens and the surrounding areas. It would be much, much easier on earth to date someone. He wasn't even sure he knew how people dated in these times. They didn't have movies but surely they still had plays. He smirked at his cleverness. He'd get them tickets to a show, sit among strangers in a darkened theater, enjoy the performance and talk about it after on a long walk back to the castle. Classic date night scenario, tested and found flawless for many, many years. But outside the castle walls, Wolfram and even himself required the company of their retainers. Even adopting a disguise, it was hard to get around his capital city without being constantly reminded of who he was and what that meant to everyone else.

So, no. No theater. They had just as much a chance to be alone there as they did sitting in a drawing room near the conference areas and dining hall. Going out to eat had much the same issues, and their meals were already taken together among the others who sat at his great table. They could sit and talk alone as they had before, guarded and hardly trusted, and as far as Yuuri could see, that was all there was for them. He wracked his brain for more ideas, frustrated with his lack of constructive thoughts as he ran over how the two of them had managed before. Before _Wolfram_ had been his retainer as well, his very presence necessitating no others for most of their play. Before they shared a room and could bicker until dawn. The time before had been full of missed opportunities. Yuuri was sure somewhere there was still the chance to see each other again if he could just think harder, remember more fully, and pace just a little longer down the echoes of his memories.

"Yoohoo~ Your Majesty Yuu~ri!"

Hearing his name in that unmistakable tenor made Yuuri jump, expecting the largest pair of breasts he'd ever had the misfortune of suffocating in to swing around and attack him as before. He looked around, smiling with a nervous wave as Celi stalked towards him, her curves swaying with each step as the seductress ex-queen prowled her way to her prey. She was woman and boy did she ever roar. Yuuri shirked slightly at the lecherous way she smiled at him, her voice high and cute but her smile devilish and hungry.

"I heard you were back. I simply had to come and give you my deepest thanks for helping my dear Wolfram." Cecilie ran her fingers over his collar, nails painted pink to match her slinky gown.

Yuuri smiled, doing his best to ignore her advances. "It was nothing. Just something I had to do."

"If there's anything I can do to repay you-"

"Nope, nothing!" He side stepped her, bowing from the waist as he stepped backwards. "Really, I'm just glad Wolfram is here and doing well."

"So am I." In that moment she dropped the sultry looks and hard come-ons. She was the mother who had lost her youngest son to politics and wars, a sentimental woman who wanted the best for her children like all good mothers do. It lasted only that moment but the jesting of her advances grew, the playfulness pushing far back any serious desire she had for her young king. "That's why you simply have to let me repay you. I'm quite well connected, you know. I'm sure any wish you have I can grant somehow."

Still taken aback by the more genuine side of the woman, Yuuri paused in his retreat. "Ah... well, now that you mention it, there might be something... but-"

It was too late. He saw them coming but still there was never enough time to react. Cecilie threw her arms open wide and hugged him to her chest, his face lost in the warm crevice between her breasts. This had once been Conrad, he thought. This had once been Gwendal stuck ear deep in bouncy milk pillows that probably weighed more than a small child. No wonder they had both grown so tall. Height was most certainly the best defense. "Tell me, tell me, tell me!" she begged, wrestling him close.

Yuuri managed to pull back, gasping for air, flushed from his deep exploration of her cleavage. Celi giggled, beeping him on the nose. "Does it have anything to do with Wolfram?"

"Uh.. yeah, actually." Yuuri adjusted his collar, trying to look her in the eyes again rather than where his face had just been. "You see, I'm.. uh... well..."

"You don't have to say another word!" She squealed like an excited school girl. "I have just the thing for two star crossed lovers desperately seeking some time alone together. You just do as I say and I'll take care of the rest!"

"You mean it?" Yuuri relaxed into his heals, relief clearing the cacophony of his thoughts.

Celi nodded, turning him around and urging him to walk with her towards the interior of the castle. "Trust me, Your Majesty, I'm an expert!"

\----

Celi was an expert alright. At just past one she stole Yuuri away from his bedroom, guards somehow too distracted to notice as the busty woman and her king cargo escaped down the halls towards one of the tower stairs. It was a long way up the twisting walk, Yuuri's legs aching as they cleared the floor level with the rooftop of the main building. Through windows he could see how high he was compared to the other towers, the lights all out outside expect for the flickering glow of the watchman's lamp as he paced the grounds. It seemed a bit excessive to meet in secret in the middle of the night but the air of intrigue in even the details around the location made Yuuri all the more excited. He wasn't sure what they'd talk about or do, hadn't thought to ask if there were games or books at the top that would give them something of entertainment. The worst thing imaginable would be to sit and stare at each other in silence as they could already do in the morning hours under the gaze of those they were seeking to escape.

At the top of the tower Celi made Yuuri wait outside the door as she went in for last minute preparations. He looked down the helix of stares, wondering when Wolfram would come or if Celi would go and bring him alone as well. With a click the door reopened, the ex-queen giggling to herself as she closed it quickly behind herself. "It's all done. You just go inside and make yourself comfortable. I'll make sure Wolfram doesn't keep you waiting."

Yuuri smiled. "Thanks for this, Celi. I mean it."

She squealed again, excitement running through her as she gave his cheek a kiss and bounced her way down the stairs. "Don't thank me, Your Majesty! Enjoy!"

He watched her take off on her spiral descent, trying to pretend he wasn't staring agape at the physics of her bust. He imagined there was no man or woman alive who could keep from staring at nature's job well done. Like most deadly things, they were best observed at a distance. Tearing his eyes away, he headed inside to wait and see what all Celi had prepared for him and Wolfram, nervous for his first date and proud to have made it happen.

In hindsight, he should have known better. Red and pink draperies covered every bit of stone on the rounded walls, more featherings of translucent cloth hanging as a canopy over the spacious bed. There were candles burning in every which corner with a sweet fragrance filling the air. Rose petals were strewn over the red silk sheets. Yuuri stared, mortified. Wolfram would definitely get the wrong idea! He leapt at the bed, trying to scrape the petals off but not sure where exactly to put them. He dodged around the room blowing out candles but feared the room would be far too dark without most them. There was no way he could pull off and hide all the flowing drapes and cloth in time without setting fire to the whole room. Such decorative things were forgotten the instant his eyes fell upon the bottle set on the dresser not far from the bed. He knew without having to look at it what it was but picked it up and read the heart-shaped label anyway: _Celi's Perfect Anal Lube_. He regretted reading it instantly, face far too red and eyes too big to ever look normal again--or at her! He was dead. There was nothing he could to do. He was in a room straight out of a love motel, standing in candle light, holding a bottle of lubricant next to a bed covered in rose petals. This was not at all like how he thought his life would end. This was how someone like Murata was supposed to go.

The door latch flipped and Yuuri froze, pretty very sure he knew who it was. Thinking quick, Yuuri ran to the window barely visible behind heavy drapes and chucked the lube as far as he could, praying it didn't hurt anyone on its fall or that someone innocent like Greta wouldn't find it.

"What are you doing?"

Yuuri turned away from the window, closing the drapes behind him and holding on to them tight. "Nothing! Nice night! Maybe we should go outside!" He cautioned himself to lower his voice but his nerves gave him the squeal of a prepubescent child.

Wolfram raised a brow but said nothing, looking around instead at the romantic set up his mother had prepared for them. Despite Yuuri's efforts, the room was still noticeably atmospheric and except for the swept piles of petals clustered on the bed rather than spread evenly, not much had been done to affect it. "I'm surprised."

"Wolfram, it's not what you think. I intended us to have a nice date night and your mother _completely_ got the wrong idea!"

The prince consort shrugged, sitting down on the bed with legs crossed at the knees. "I'm not so old fashioned as to be offended. I'm certainly not saving myself for anything."

Yuuri worried his bottom lip, hands still clutching the drapes shut. "I'm serious, this was all her. I respect you way more than to assume you'd want this right now."

Wolfram smiled at him, patting the bed beside him. "You don't have to assume if you ask. Come here."

There was a large ' _RUN!_ ' sign flashing in his mind, a quick thought given to how far a drop it really would be out that window if he wanted to escape that look in Wolfram's eye--so much like his mother's. Yuuri swallowed hard, stepping further into the room and slowly sinking down on the soft bed at his side. "Like, I was saying, I was trying to plan just a normal date night thing and I don't know _why_ I thought I could trust Celi to help but this was all h-"

Wolfram turned Yuuri's face and kissed him, currently not all that interested in excuses.

Yuuri enjoyed kissing. It felt like forever ago that they had shared their first kiss. It was even better when it didn't come in the middle of an argument, much softer and more caring, slower and with feelings other than exasperation and fear. Wolfram's lips were just as soft, the smell of him just as familiar and calming. He liked the way Wolfram's fingers framed his neck, thumb resting on his cheek and caressing it lightly. It was much better than their first kiss, of that Yuuri was sure. He kept his arms at his sides, uncertain what to do with them as Wolfram guided his lips to part with the swipe of his tongue and urged them closer with the desire for more. His hands ran down Yuuri's face and chest, grasping his thigh and running his hand along the inside hem of his pants.

Yuuri gasped free of the kiss, spark of interest making his head spin. "W-hoa. Ah, W-Wolfram! Like I said, this was Cecilie's idea!"

"Doesn't mean it's a bad one." The blonde pushed his king back on the bed, rose petals bursting up into the air as he landed among them, wide eyed and stupefied. Yuuri pushed himself up on his elbows as Wolfram descended on him, leaning across his body to kiss him again, hands following once more on their path over him.

"It doesn't mean we should-a-hah!" Yuuri jolted as Wolfram's palm slid up along his inner thigh, firmly pressing in right along his previously flaccid length. His breath caught in his throat as the passing caress became a gentle rubbing, friction exciting him far faster than his head felt ready. "W-wolf! That's not-"

"I won't take it too far," the mazoku promised, his other hand pushing Yuuri's black over-shirt shirt up to reveal reasonably taut abs from summers spent training on the diamond. His fingers crept under the material, pressing along his skin with skillful pressure, awakening strange rushes of arousal even in the tenderest and most chaste of touches.

Yuuri bit his lip to still a moan, heart hammering in his eardrums and nerves firing warnings that things had gone far enough already. He wriggled against the touch at his groin, intoxicated by his uncertainty and wary of the moment. "Just through the clothes, okay?" he said.

"You'll make a mess if we do that." Wolfram straddled his left thigh, knee tucked away in the warmth between his legs while he leaned over Yuuri's body, thigh replacing his palm with pressure and movement, hands free to pull at the closure of Yuuri's black over-shirt. He pulled it open, tugging again now at the white shirt which slid much more smoothly up over his chest where the cool night air made rosy nipples perk into blushing nubs. He rubbed one against his thumb in tiny circles, the knuckle of his forefinger drawing in close to pinch the sensitive spot and illicit a surprised gasp from the bewildered king. Wolfram kissed at his neck, just below his ear where his jaw hinged and his blood pulsed. His kisses were soft but fingers rough from decades of swordplay.

Yuuri grasped handfuls of the crimson sheets, rose petals folding under his fingers as he seized the silken cloth. "Wolfram, this--ah...this is a little too fast for me."

"Then show me, Yuuri." His breath was moist and heavy on his skin as he sat up, weight sinking down on Yuuri's thigh as he ran his fingers back down his chest, his stomach, tripping over the waist of his pants to steady along his black clad hips. He leaned back as his hands followed down Yuuri's thighs and up his own, fingers tipping buttons through their holes as he slowly removed his uniform jacket and unveiled the pale skin at the dip of his neck as the white collar fell open in a 'V' to his sternum. Yuuri stared as his breathing steadied, eyes following the pattern of his movements as shoulders shrugged off heavy, scarlet sleeves and hands tossed the extra article away. Yuuri did not resist as Wolfram took his hand and brought it to his chest, sliding it behind the curtain of white to press against the supple flesh of a well toned chest and the drumming of the heart that pulsed beneath it. "Explore me. Know me. Make me feel how much you're ready for."

A shiver carried a panicked arousal through his body as Yuuri's mouth went both too dry and far too moist. He swallowed hard, feeling the ache of his body as it yearned for what he denied. His breath trembled over his lips as he pushed himself up on one elbow, other hand frozen against the milky skin offered to him to discover. He was warm like a furnace and soft like the sheets. Yuuri let his fingers mimic the way Wolfram's had touched him, finding a nipple and teasing it erect, wanting to see his friend react as he himself had done. He liked the way Wolfram's breathing changed slightly, the concentrated effort he could hear in every exhale as he kept back all honest sounds.

It wasn't a woman's breast he kneaded in his palm and in some ways that was quite comforting. It certainly made it a lot less awkward to explain away the urge to put his mouth on it. Sitting up he wrapped an arm around Wolfram's waist, pushing the shirt open with the other as he bent his neck and pressed his lips against his skin. He kissed his pulse against his neck, the hollow of his collar bone, the slope of his pec. Wolfram rose up on his knees, hands burrowing in Yuuri's hair and spreading down his shoulders and back as Yuuri pulled his hips closer, tongue teasing in circles around his nipple while the swell of Wolfram's excitement pressed noticeably against Yuuri's stomach. Rather than let his mind linger too long on that particular thought, Yuuri found himself rocking against the knee still planted firmly between his legs, humping it slowly but unmistakably as he let his teeth test Wolfram's ability to maintain his cool appearance. A sturdy bite made him arch against him, fingers digging in to the muscles of Yuuri's back as he exhaled with gasp and a shaky moan.

Yuuri joined him with a chorus of panting breaths, wanting so much more than the pleasure he took from thrusting himself against a leg. "...We're going to do something impulsive and stupid, aren't we." There really didn't seem a point to pretending it was a question. He let his hand slide down over Wolfram's hip to his backside, firmly grasping a globe as he pulled him closer, wiggled himself nearer.

"No," Wolfram said. "We won't. I won't let it be something we'll regret."

Yuuri believed him. He fell back on the cooling sheets as Wolfram guided him to lay, adjusting his position so he straddled both Yuuri's thighs as he leaned down over him. There was a great deal of security in letting Wolfram take the lead, letting his experience guide them even as Yuuri himself feared total submission to his friend's desires. He could trust Wolfram with his insecurities and doubts, his inexperience and his expectations--even the ones he didn't yet know he had. He could let go if he just stopped thinking. He grasped Wolfram's face and kissed him urgently, the best known cure for a wandering mind he knew. To his delight, Wolfram kissed him back fervently as his hands worked on Yuuri's fly, pulling free the bow at his hip that was the closure of his black undergarments.

Even knowing without a doubt whose hand it was, it was still a hand that was stranger to that private place on his body. Yuuri tightened his arms around Wolfram, moaning through open-mouthed kisses as he felt the fingers wrap around his erection, callouses making the touch all the more foreign as they lightly rubbed him with their tough texture. Wolfram's thumb pressed against its head, fingers rolling down his foreskin and brushing along the sensitive glands with a reverent stroke. Yuuri was lost in him; the tongue that taught him how to kiss, the hand that possessed his attention and desire. He bucked against that hand, wanting more, never one to tease himself in the ways the noble swordsman did, lingering and long strokes not fast or firm enough to carry him over the edge.

Yuuri moaned more loudly, breaking away from their exchanging of breath to speak while the facility to do so remained. "You.. you too," he managed, looking dazedly into Wolfram's dark eyes shadowed by their veil of lashes.

Wolfram nodded as his free hand left Yuuri's side and began on the closure of his own trousers. Yuuri could not sit idly by. He moved his friend's hand aside, pulling apart the buttons and untying the black stands at both sides of his hips. He pushed the material down, staring at this unveiling as his nerves sent his fingers trembling. Wolfram was most definitely a man and an excited one at that. Yuuri started with his fingers pressed shyly at his belly, slowly building up the courage to touch as he'd been touched. Wolfram remained perfectly still, head tucked forward with chin to chest and his own fingers languidly maintaining their caress on Yuuri's arousal. Yuuri felt past the coarse patch of blonde hair and up the smooth, heated flesh to the very tip with all eight finger pads like a musician learning his instrument. He was more gentle than planned, timid in his idle touch that neither grasped nor stroked. He felt the dew of cum at the slit of the head and wondered vaguely how much he had to do with Wolfram's present state, his lack of skill obvious to even him. But of course, he had everything to do with it, from the very beginning to the present command. It made Yuuri's cock twitch with renewed interest as he wrapped his fingers around Wolfram's and fondled him with an earnest stroke that insisted on more with its conviction. The surprise in Wolfram's gasp made every measure worth it as Yuuri continued to press and pull, feeling him as he had felt himself for years. Wolfram bent down again for another kiss, echoing Yuuri's pace and intensity as he returned to his pleasured task.

It was embarrassingly short lived. With a buck and a grunt Yuuri came across Wolfram's hand and his own stomach, muscles trembling in that familiar and yet unexplored way that meant completion in every sense of the word. He felt Wolfram's hand still stroke him, more gently and with less purpose as everything was spent. It was all he could do to remember his unfinished charge as he coerced his lover to join him in indulgent bliss. He was lazy in his rapture. Wolfram's hand joined his, wrapping along his fingers to guide him along his length. Yuuri half closed his eyes as he caught his breath, watching the motions from pleasure to ecstasy roll across Wolfram's face as he bid himself to climax. He felt the warmth of his seed as it mixed with his own on his belly and let his hand go lax, so ready to faze out of reality for a moment and regain thought where only sensation had been.

Wolfram rolled off to his side, deep breaths swallowed in the pillow he turned his face into. His ears were rosy, his porcelain skin flushed and ghost like against the sheets. He turned his face towards Yuuri, rose petal stuck to the crest of his cheek as he smiled softy and pressed the king's bangs from his brow.

Yuuri thought him beautiful. He leaned a kiss to his lips, a softer, less demanding kiss than the ones that had left his lips feeling bruised and tingly. Wolfram maintained its chaste appreciation, hand finding Yuuri's again and intertwining their fingers in an embrace of similar sentiment. Yuuri gave his hand a squeeze, content to lay there and smile for all the time the world would give him.

"I told you you'd make a mess if you kept your clothes on."

Yuuri chuckled, squeezing his hand once more. "Half of it's your mess."

"Is that okay?"

He didn't need to be in complete control of his body and mind to understand Wolfram's meaning. There were far easier ways to ask ' _can I cum on you?_ ' and far better times to do so. Just thinking about it made Yuuri want to cringe and run around like a nervous six year old on the playground. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to change that reaction so easily, the knee-jerk of disgust at the thought of men and their bodies and the unnatural ways they interacted. Girls didn't cum, not like boys did. In all the ways Wolfram's gender did not matter in their relationship, it was like this when that distinction was undeniable. Was it okay to cum? Was it okay to have a penis, to function and take pleasure the same as he did, to touch and kiss and above all else love?

Yuuri kissed him again, rolling over on his side to be all the nearer. "Only if it's you," he said.

Wolfram smiled and leaned his forehead to his, simple hearts delighting in simple moments.

The clock on the wall chimed, hands stretching out towards the east as the bells rang twice, still hours till dawn. With a sigh of defeat Wolfram kissed Yuuri once more then slid apart, sitting up to re-button his dress shirt and correct the state of his undergarments.

Yuuri frowned, rolling again onto his back as he stared down at the genetic ooze sliding over his skin. There was definitely that six year old screaming ' _ew!_ ' and running away somewhere in him still. He grabbed the top sheet and wiped himself off, trying not to look or at least not look like it bothered him. He bundled the sheets together to try and hide the mess. The less evidence he gave Cecilie, the more likely he would be able to ever look her in the face again, her perfect anal lube not withstanding.

"I'm sorry I can't stay," Wolfram apologized, his back still to him as he continued to redress.

Yuuri sighed, sitting up and pulling his own clothes back into array. There were a few spots of their misdeeds stuck to the fabric. They and the sheets were simply going to have to be burned. He knew the maids; there was simply no getting around it--they'd notice. "Don't be. I mean, I am too. It's just the way things are right now. It won't be like this forever."

Wolfram shook his head. "It's the first time we've ever... I would have wanted to have stayed. I hate settling for this."

In all honestly, Yuuri would have preferred to have kept his company through the night as well. Sexual contact hadn't been on his agenda at all when he'd asked for Celi to help him, though he was grateful for what he'd gained from it. Wolfram was always going to be assertive if not a bit aggressive in their relationship, had never been a fragile flower of a maiden impressed and awed by Yuuri's awesome might. They were equals, and even if Wolfram was stubborn and full of his own fantasies and ideas, he did listen, he would stop, he had given control over to Yuuri until their intentions became one. Being in a gay relationship might still have had its lingering fears but there was nothing frightening about Wolfram or the way he felt about him. Yuuri only wished he had near enough time to just enjoy his everyday company again.

But who said they had to be alone to be happy together?

Yuuri walked across the mattress on his knees, wrapping his arms around Wolfram with his chin tucked over his shoulder. "How about tomorrow we have a tea party with Greta. Maybe fly a kite or go riding. Anything would be fun, I think. You can even invite that Iorund guy."

"Iorund's just as likely to invite himself anyway." Wolfram leaned his face against him, nuzzling him with his cheek. "But, yeah. I'd like that."

Yuuri kissed his face and let him go so Wolfram could grab his uniform jacket from its resting place on the floor. It was an odd good night, too rushed and too slow and certainly all too soon. Wolfram pouted at him as he shrugged back on the scarlet coat, eyes downcast and guilty. Yuuri just smiled for him, doing his best to show it was going to be just fine.

Wolfram knocked at the bedroom door three times then waited. Curiously, Yuuri watched, wondering why he knocked and paused as he did. The door opened from the outside, an all too familiar face peaking from the crack.

"The coast is clear."

"Conrad!" Yuuri grabbed at the sheets, mistakenly grasping hold of the ones he'd wiped himself off on, flailing to hide them as much as to hide himself though fully dressed. He fell off the side of the bed, trying to imagine away the candle light and flower petals still obviously adding their ambiance to the darkened room.

Wolfram shook his head, palm hiding his eyes. "Yuuri, really. Who else do you think my mother would trust to make sure we weren't disturbed?"

Yuuri slammed his face down into the mattress, wanting to bury himself far, far away from the soldier's knowing smirk. Celi was evil. Pure, beautiful evil.


	26. Chapter 26

The wedding was the biggest and brightest spectacle in well over a decade and Wolfram couldn't wait for it to be over. His dress coat was itchy, his new boots pinched his toes, the tailor had made the collar just a tad too tight and his hair refused to settle into a uniform or at least pleasing way. Of course he would look and feel miserable on ' _the happiest day of his life_ '. He wasn't sure why he had looked forward to this the way he had. It was lengthy and extravagant and it wasting so much of their time just to state for the whole kingdom everything they already had established together. Time was precious, it shouldn't be wasted. He was anxious for it to be over with so their lives could simply continue. Time was always moving, even for mazoku. Wolfram paced a worn spot into the rug as he waited for Conrad to guide him down to the procession.

The wedding was being held in the temple but the landscape seemed wrong. Vast shores of rolling waves swept along its sides instead of the scrawling forests and hillsides. It gave Wolfram a slight pause as he looked from the window--since when was he allowed to occupy any space in the temple?--but with the ribbons and banners all wafting off the stone in the sea breeze, it was hard to have any complaint. He could hear music and people but could not see either. Waiting was very hard. So much time wasted.

Conrad knocked on the door then entered. He looked fantastic in his suit, the very image of a gentleman. He looked very much older, wrinkles forming at his eyes. When did he get to be so old? Wolfram thought he even saw a spec of grey in his hair, a wisp of white at his temples. Time ticked off the decades on his countenance. His brother still smiled the same, wrinkles deepening in the expression. It was time.

There was an aisle and two men standing at the far end of it, both in their traditional attire but only one there for Wolfram. The officiant was Murata and somehow that only made too much sense. Of course it would be the sage who married them. The music and gaiety were much louder but fell to a hush as Wolfram walked towards his future husband on his brother's arm. How long was the aisle? Why did they have to walk so slow? Wasting so much time...

Wolfram came to stand at the top of the aisle beside his betrothed who bent a wiry kiss to his brow. "It'll all be over soon," he said, scarlet uniform blazing in the sunlight from overhead.

Wolfram looked up at him, that same feeling of wrongness returning. "Alfie?"

The guests started screaming. Big Cimarron soldiers dropped in, swords slicing through men and women and children and turning the white flowers pink in blood.

 _Another one of these..._

Wolfram pulled a sword from a sheath that hadn't been there before, stepping forward with his arms out side to protect. "Murata! Get him to safety!"

He heard no reply. Wolfram looked over his shoulder to see no one there but still knew they had not fled as he had wished. He clashed swords with several soldiers, his white suit slashed and pink as the flowers as he tried to turn back down the aisle. He could see him, Alfgeir, fighting not too far away. The more he struggled to reach him, the more the swords seemed to catch him off guard, tearing away more pieces of him. He should have been dead by now. Wolfram finally burst through the mass of men, joining Alfgeir at his side. The soldiers opened in a circle around them, swords and arrows poised and ready.

"My life to yours, in good spirits and bad, in weakness and strength, in triumph and defeat, for as long as life is ours to share."

"Now isn't the time renew your vows, Alfie!"

The ginger man chuckled, sword pointing out at a man hanging back from the fray whose cruel smirk delighted in watching them struggle. Wolfram knew the face well and fought himself to stand guard and not run at him in blind rage: the general.

 _Not this time..._

"We can't win here. We have to run!"

Alfgeir shook his head, his sword held steady. "We'd never make it."

"We have to try!" Wolfram pulled at him, hands slippery with blood. "Maybe we won't make it but we'll definitely die here!"

"Not really the honeymoon I'd hoped for."

Wolfram punched him, strength fading as the crowd of soldiers seemed to part to make way for the general as he calmly strode towards them. Wolfram raised his sword but the blade felt it weighed a hundred pounds. It fell from his grasp, clanging to the temple floor. Wolfram roared at his impotence as arrows flew at them, pinning him through his flesh and bones to Alfgeir who stood behind him. His body was hardly anything more than scraps but he kept his eyes pinned to the general as he his raised sword and held it to arc at his neck....

 

Wolfram awoke as the sword severed his head, jolting into a sitting position in bed with sweat soaking his nightclothes and swelled breath choking him in his throat. There was no light outside his window; only darkness. Another night of rest cut short by the same, tired dream. Wolfram let out the painful, trembling breath as he took stock of reality: ten fingers, two arms, beating heart, neck intact, husband still murdered but at least avenged. He hated the dreams--the nightmares. That he had them more often since returning home was a fact he hated even more.

At least it meant he got to see his friend again. It was a poor bright side to a nightmare but with night after night of watching him die, there was some small consolation in first getting to see Alfgeir alive once more.

There would be no more sleep for the night. Wolfram stood up and pulled on his robe, mind and heart restless. The guards at his door were used to this by now and followed without question as Wolfram headed down to the kitchens. A snack would help his mood and pacify the ache in his stomach. Word must have gotten around to the staff as easily attained morsels were left ready for him along with a cool pitcher of water waiting in the icebox. He helped himself to a slice of pie and a tall glass then sat at the wooden block table to enjoy both.

It felt good to eat. Food had never been very important to him until the ability to eat and hold down food was lost. Just thinking about houseki made his stomach hurt but rather than turn away from food, the ache begged for it. He could remember the hunger pains masked by the other torture and how even after being freed from the cursed stone he could hardly swallow spit let alone a bite. There would always be other pains but this one he could heal with his fork, a sweet sliver of baked delight, and a crisp, cold drink to drink. Time would have to heal the rest.

After more than two months, he had hoped to have left more of it behind him. The dreams said otherwise. In Trebic he had mostly dreamed of darkness, too tired for even his subconscious mind to bother with the effort of dreaming. The dreams that were generally kept true to events, a simple rehashing of their deaths as he remembered them. It was Shin Makoku which turned the snow to white flowers and the back castle garden into Shinou's temple. It made the marriage at sea become a wedding at home and made time wind round till Wolfram could even forget sometimes how the dreams went and enjoy for a moment a peaceful reunion. He missed him still. He supposed, in many ways, he understood much better now the pain his brother had felt when Julia died. Being close to someone to the point of sharing almost everything, no secrets, even if there was no romance woven into it, was in many ways a far more intimate relationship than love alone. There was no consolation in the courage he showed or the quickness of his death. Wolfram could still remember the smell of him burning. Sometimes the smell permeated even his nightmares. Whatever the reason or meaning behind such dreams, Wolfram didn't care. He simply wanted to forget the sights, smells and sounds of their defeat as much at night as he managed during the day.

The days were much easier. During the day there was Greta and Yuuri, meetings with Zorashia's dignitaries, go here, come there. Tea parties, kite flying, horseback rides, walks along the city streets, they'd been wonderful ways to pass the daylight hours between arguing old men saying the same things again and again. Nights, however, were idle and long. He'd thought the time spent with Yuuri in the tower room would have given him at least that night free of any thoughts other than those of his beloved. The worse of the nightmares had been on that night, though, making him glad to have slept far away from where Yuuri could hear his scream. Turning down Greta for more sleepovers was hard as well. He did not want to worry anyone unnecessarily and Yuuri, more than anyone else he knew, was a worrier.

There was no reason to worry. He was fine. No matter what happened, they'd think of something, and someday, no matter how long it took, they would all be together as a family again.

Wolfram stabbed at the crust of his pie with his fork, scraping the plate. Sometimes having to look on the bright side of things just pissed him off all the more.

The door to the kitchen pushed open, giving Wolfram a momentary start. No one else should have been awake. While the kitchen was hardly his alone in the early mornings, the thought of being caught and explaining himself was unwelcome in his still raw state. His guard held open the door and stood aside as Murata of all people entered, fully dressed in his black uniform as though the hours were those he usually kept to. He smiled at Wolfram as he ambled in, his purposeful walk taking him straight to the rest of the pie.

"Ah, Effe sure does make the best desserts around."

Wolfram stared, not sure for a moment if he had yet to stop dreaming. "You came all the way here from the temple just to sneak a slice of Effe's pie and four in the morning?" He shook his head, cutting through to his next bite. "People from Earth are strange."

"Maybe a little." The sage pulled a plate and cut himself a large slice, inviting himself to sit at the table opposite him with no reservations or consideration to what might have brought him there. He let out a long sigh as he cheerfully took a bite. "So good~ Still, you have to agree people from Trebic are stranger than even us. Who else would send their top official to a different country just to make sure none of the nobles got power hungry enough to repeat the general's fine example."

Wolfram made a face. It wasn't worth it to bother asking where the sage got his information. Surely Gwendal or Gunter or even the doves themselves would find a way to inform Yuuri's infuriatingly knowledgeable counterpart. He rested his elbow on the table, pushing back on his bangs as he poked at this pie. "That's not Trebic, that's Bersi being an idiot.

"He's worried about you."

"He shouldn't be. I'm not worried about it. I only agreed because it meant I got to come home." Wolfram cut an apple spear in half and slid it around on the plate, picking up crust crumbs and giving his eyes somewhere else to look than at the sage's strange duple expressions of wizened superiority and morbid curiosity. With four thousand years of memory, the sage had probably earned the right to both. It didn't make it any less annoying coming from someone who looked no older or more experienced than himself.

Murata helped himself to the pitcher of water, filling his glass full. "So you're not scared or worried it will happen again?"

Wolfram shook his head. "Not particularly. It happened under very specific circumstances for purely political reasons. I'm more afraid of Shinou on a day-to-day basis than I am of some random person thinking they can become king if they can get me to hold still long enough. Everyone knows what happened to the last guy who did."

Murata chuckled, nomming on another bite. "That's very true. I think it was wise of Sir Veleif to send you away all the same. No matter how capable you are, power hungry people are almost always opportunists as well."

"It won't be an issue for long." Wolfram ate the small apple sliver, not enjoying present company nearly as much as his snack. Speaking with the sage, though not a common occurrence, at least occupied his mind. Wolfram even enjoyed his lack of tact at times. Beating around the bush could be rather verbally exhausting. "If you're satisfied that I'm not nearly as damaged or vulnerable as most people seem to assume I am, can we drop the subject?"

"Ah, of course. My apologies. Actually, I'm more intrigued by what you said about Shinou. Are you really afraid of him?"

A slight shiver ran down Wolfram's spine. He attributed it to the cold water. "I don't exactly have your confidence in that area. He does. And I have no intention of speaking ill of him to anyone, least of all his Great Sage."

Murata shrugged his shoulders, arms bent with palms up. "Oh, you don't have to tell me his faults. I know them all. I know them very, very well. I'm curious as to which ones are the ones you find fearful, though. It's not as though I'll tattle but perhaps I should know which things to chastise him more for." He smiled, taking up his fork again. "There really isn't anything you can say that will surprise me when it comes to Shinou, Wolfram. And there's no one more blasphemous than me."

He supposed that was true but it still seemed like quite the trap. Murata himself, after all, was a master of deception. Neither he nor Shinou could really be trusted at face value. But perhaps venting on a subject unrelated to his current midnight obsessions would help push the dreams back further and let him carry on with his day.

Wolfram sat straight in his chair, arms crossed over his chest for the moment with his snack still unfinished. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that my entire family was put together by Shinou. Four thousand years ago he decided who my mother would sleep with and when so that my brothers and I would be keys of the right ages to serve Yuuri as he needed us to. And now that Shoushu has been defeated and the boxes are no longer a threat, there is no need for keys. I've already outlived the purpose Shinou made me for and the only other use I seem to have to him is as a vessel for him to possess. I don't want to imagine I look like him for his own vanity in occupying my body."

"Ah, well, he does enjoy certain freedoms I suppose." Murata nodded calmly, tapping his fork against his lip. "And of course that's all quite true but even Yuuri has more or less outlived his usefulness too as you put it. Anyone can be king but only Yuuri could defeat Shoushu. Shinou may not have really planned ahead much further than that but he didn't expect everyone to just disappear when it was all over. Yuuri's the king he wants and the rest of you are the people he wants supporting him. He's actually quite fond of you. A little exasperated at your actions at times but still fond."

Wolfram looked at his plate, not sure what to say to that.

Murata didn't seem to be waiting for a response anyway, continuing on as he cut off his next bite. "Really, he likes anyone who makes Yuuri happy. I have to agree, though, he can be a little too excessive at times. As for me, I am constantly having to do his dirty work for him. Effe's pie is wonderful but it's a small consolation for being asked to travel out here at four in the morning. Everyone always seems to shoot the messenger."

"I would too if I was receiving a message at this hour."

Murata quirked his head to the side slightly, fork still against his lips as he swallowed. "Wolfram, you _are_ receiving one at this hour." He tucked in to another bite, eyes downcast as he stabbed an apple with the three small prongs. "If you won't go to Shinou yourself, eventually someone was going to have to come here to you. The dreams obviously weren't working."

Wolfram let his fork clatter against his plate as he dropped it. "Those dreams were all _Shinou's_ doing!?" He stood up, face red with anger and embarrassment that Murata knew how he spent his nights tossing and turning. "What kind of game is he trying to play with me now? I'm not his puppet!"

Murata took another bite, ignoring his outburst. "Shinou may have behaved poorly in the past with his readiness to use you but there has been no malice in his current attempts to contact you."

"No malice?! Is there some great honor in being able to watch my husband die over and over and over again?!"

"Wolfram. Please sit down."

Wolfram slammed his fist against the table. "I don't care who he is; he can't do this to me! I've done everything for this country! What could I have possibly done to deserve this?!"

"Wolfram." Murata's voice raised in volume and insistence, his face stern. "Sit down, please. You'll make your guards anxious if you continue. You do not want to have this conversation with an audience."

The prince consort's fists shook with rage but he forced himself to sit. He glared at Murata with the hope that he could somehow make him explode. Little pieces of Murata everywhere would be a mess for the maids but nothing a few new hair bobbles or a bouquet of flowers wouldn't make up for.

Murata leaned back on his stool, not impressed nor intimidated in the least. "Shinou exerted himself a great deal to help you in Trebic. He recovering much better with me here now but he cannot project himself outside the temple. With you in Blood Pledge, he has been trying to shape your dreams to communicate with you but the message is still too subtle it seems. He had asked me to grief you about not coming and thanking him in person but I at least understand that you have been busy."

Wolfram winced slightly at his lack of respect all the same. "So.. so it was Shinou who brought me back?"

"If any mazoku could simply will himself back to life, I'm sure it would be you, Wolfram. But in this case it was Shinou and being so far away and in human territory as well really took it out of him."

"I'll go to the temple in the morning," Wolfram promised, not sure how annoyed he really should have been at the original king for demanding his well earned thanks. The dreams were hardly fair but he'd been having them long enough now that it was hard to blame him for their overall content. The last thing he needed to do was further insult the ghostly man with further indignity and insubordination.

Murata shook his head. "That's not the issue here. What matters isn't that you go and prostrate yourself at his feet but that you understand what happened that night and what it means for your future."

Wolfram paused. "What do you mean my future?"

"Wolfram... you remember Conrad's arm? How Shinou gave him a new one when he lost his real one in combat?"

Forgetting would be harder than remembering. He nodded, trying not to think too much about the time spent mourning his older brother. They had been dark days when even Yuuri had been lost. It was not something to be spoken of.

Murata pressed his glasses up on his nose. "Shinou can't simply make something out of nothing. With Conrad's arm, it was an ancestor's sacrifice. With Yuuri, it was the life of Julia to give him a soul that could complete Shinou's objectives. He can shape things, he can give them to others, but he can't create. In both Conrad and Yuuri's case, the things that were sacrificed were given up freely and with full knowledge. In your case, Shinou had to be.... creative." His eyes seemed darker in the candle lit room, Murata's serious face softened by the warm glow. The soft smile he offered held a note of sympathy that was not in the least bit encouraging. "In your wedding vows on the ship, Prince Havard promised to share his life with you. Shinou took that literally and took away the rest of his natural life moments before his wounds would have killed him."

Wolfram shook his head, mouth agape. "Shinou killed-"

"No," Murata stated firmly. "Big Cimarron soldiers did. All Shinou did was get to him before blood loss and injury claimed all of what he could have lived. As for you, your soul was kept safe until it could be returned to your body. The circumstance's weren't ideal but seventy years is still better than none at all."

He hadn't heard him right. It was impossible for him to have heard him right. "Seventy," he repeated, somewhat amazed the word managed to form on his own tongue.

Murata nodded, frowning. "You're not human; you won't age like one regardless of how much time you have left though as a mazoku you will certainly perceive seventy years differently from how a human would. At the best, humans only live to be around 100 if by no cause but nature." He sighed, slouching in his seat as though a heavy burden rested on his shoulders. "I thought at first that maybe it would be better if you didn't know but with things as they are.... well, no one wants you make decisions based on presumed longevity."

He knew he'd heard him, knew the words were spoken in his own language and made as clear and concise as possible but still Wolfram swore the sage had spoken complete and utter gibberish. Seventy years. He was eighty-three; he wasn't ready to have lived more than half his life already. If he had to marry Bersi there would not be any time left at all for him and Yuuri. Conrad would outlive him, _Greta_ would outlive him. Any family he hoped to have with Yuuri would be one he would leave much like his own father had left him--too soon vanished to be remembered.

Murata took his glasses from his face, wiping at the lenses with a rag. "I understand it's not ideal. I wish things were different, especially with things proceeding between Yuuri and yourself as they are. I shouldn't say especially, I guess. It's not the best of news regardless of the situation."

"How... how will I...?" He couldn't finish it.

He didn't need to. "In your sleep. Simply collapsing during the day. Sudden but peaceful." Murata placed his glasses back on his solemn face. "While I do think you should know, I do not think knowing the years, months, days, hours, minutes and seconds till that day are going to be beneficial. Much to the contrary. You'll simply run out of time and stop living."

Wolfram pushed away from the table, his stool crashing to the tile behind him, body visibly shaking. Murata seemed to wait for an outburst, either of anger or grief. Wolfram felt sure the sage was more than ready to deal with either. The emotion was terror, however, and it sent the mazoku running.

"W-Wolfram! Wait!"

The Trebic guard were immediately on alert as their prince consort tore down the hallway past them, not waiting for their entourage as he bolted around the building he had haunted since childhood. He knew the layout instinctively, feet pounding on the same tiles he'd crawled on, walked on, raced along for over eighty years. There wasn't time to wait for guards, no time to explain, no time for anything. Yuuri's own guard had hardly a moment to remember who Wolfram now was before the mazoku threw himself inside his bedchamber and slammed the door closed behind him. He braced himself against it as the guards tried to enter, locking it as quickly as he could despite the pounding and shouting on the other side. His body jumped with every hard pound on the wood but the lock held, was built to withstand more. He closed his eyes as he caught his breath, eyes squeezed closed to try and keep it together for just a minute longer.

Seventy years. _Alfgeir's_ seventy years. It was time that belonged to Trebic. It was part of his own vows, part of his duty, part of his position, part of all the promises made over the course of his married life.

"Wolfram?"

He turned his head, looking over his shoulder as he stared across the room at the sleepy king. Yuuri was sitting up from his bed with their daughter's worried and quizzical face peeking from around him. "Is something happening?" Yuuri asked, flipping the blankets off his legs.

Wolfram turned and took two steps towards the bed before falling to his shaking knees, body trembling so hard it could no longer stand. Yuuri raced from the bed to his side, sliding to the ground to hold his shoulders up and look into his dampening face.

"Wolf?"

"Save me." He didn't care if he was begging, there was no time for pride. It didn't matter if he was a coward this once. His hands clutched at Yuuri's blue sleep shirt, pulling on him in desperation. "Please, save me. I can't do this on my own anymore. We'll do things any way you want, however you think it'll work best, just please save me. I can't go back. We have to stay here, we all have to stay here."

Yuuri pulled him to his chest, holding him close. Wolfram hadn't meant to cry but could not help his eyes from tearing. He was far too close to finally having the family he'd wanted and worked for, much too close to lose it all now to negotiations and inheritance traditions. The guards were still banging heavily at the door with insistence, the chorus of voices added to as presumably the Trebic guard caught up.

"Wolfram... if I knew how to stop all this I..-I would have done it by now..."

The mazoku sobbed, clutching his lover harder. He'd never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted to be with Yuuri. He'd have rather had stayed dead than gotten so close just to lose it all. "You always save the day! You always make things work out! I need you to do it for me this time. Please!"

Yuuri's voice lowered to a whisper against his eat with Greta not far. "Wolfram, what's going on? What's happened?"

"Wolfram! Your Majesty, open this door." It was Gwendal. Someone had woken him.

Wolfram buried his face in Yuuri's shoulder, wanting to tell him everything that was wrong with anything but words. He hid his face for the shame he showed their daughter. So much for not causing her worry.

"Your Majesty, this really is not the time for this." Iorund; of course his own guard had alerted him. A prince consort could not fraternize in other's bedrooms unattended or at night. His behavior no doubt had them curious and on alert.

Yuuri stroked his head gently, cheek resting against his hair. "It's alright, Wolfram. Everything's okay. I'll take care of everything." He pulled away from him slowly with a brief kiss, getting to his feet and walking to the pounding door. He unlocked it and held it open, many angry or concerned faces staring at or past him.

Greta came and took Yuuri's place on the floor, a welcome replacement in Wolfram's arms.

"Really, now," Iorund grumbled as he stood at the front of the scarlet guard in his robe and night shirt. "What is going on at this hour?"

Yuuri stepped towards him, head held high in his best impression of what someone regal and important should look like. "You're a Trebic noble, right? Part of the royal court" he asked.

"I.. yes?"

"I just have to tell you I've slept with Wolfram and intend to remain married to him and that makes it official, right?"

"Your Majesty." Gwendal's tone was on edge. Wolfram couldn't blame him, his own thoughts spinning.

Iorund's round, bearded face went pale. He stuttered for a moment, his bushy eyebrows arcing high on his brow. He took a deep breath as his composure set in, momentary shock subsiding to procedure and protocol. "Regardless of our customs or your actions, a mazoku cannot rule Trebic," he explained. He did not bother disguising his relief or satisfaction in correcting him.

Yuuri smiled just slightly, cocky in his foresight. "Well, lucky for all of us I'm not a full blooded mazoku. My mother is human. I don't guess half breeds are disqualified?"

The slightly panicked, dumbfounded stare returned to the Trebic noble's face. Gwendal glared, eye twitching, furious but silent.

"So I guess that makes me king of Trebic after all," Yuuri stated. He pointed at Iorund. "Get a ship ready. I want to leave as soon as possible. We've got work to do and I need to speak to the other nobles to get everything over and done with in time to be back here for baseball season."

"I... that.."

The Trebic guard saluted Yuuri, their acceptance made clear. Iorund cleared his throat, tucking the sides of his robe in closer around his round belly. "Yes... Your Majesty." Bowing he turned, accompanied by the guard as they presumably made their way to the aviary.

Gwendal did not bother to wait for them to be very far at all before forcibly guiding Yuuri back into his room and slamming the door hard behind them. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

Yuuri sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Something impulsive and stupid."

"Yuuri..." Wolfram wiped his eyes, not sure if maybe this too was a dream. "But..we haven't-"

"No one has to know that. I won't say otherwise. Will you?"

Wolfram shook his head.

"Even if you had, this sort of arrangement isn't legal as far as Shin Makoku is concerned." Gwendal loomed over his king, fingers fidgeting in knitting strokes as he chastised him. "You're only married under Trebic law and I _will not_ acknowledge anything like this under these circumstances."

Yuuri turned on his adviser, face serious and eyes harsh. "Don't get in my way, Gwendal. If it has to be legal here too for this to work then we sign whatever paperwork we need to and make it legal."

Wolfram loved it when Yuuri took command but he felt just as confused as he was relieved. "Make what work?"

"Just trust me. I think I almost know what I'm doing. And that's worked pretty well in the past."


	27. Chapter 27

Yuuri gently stroked his fingers through Wolfram's hair as he sat at the edge of his bed, watching him sleep. When it came to the long voyages over seas, sleep was really the only way to escape the vomit inducing sway of the ship. Yuuri was glad to see him unconscious, mouth parted with a breathy snore as he drooled ever so slightly on a pillow. _Yuuri's_ pillow, he noticed. He didn't mind. That they were permitted to share a double bed in the ship's private quarters below deck was enough to make any concession on who got to drool on what. They were married now, if only as far as the Trebic people were concerned. It made Yuuri's heart feel lighter and his mood invincible against all other worries or concerns. He'd won. He'd grant Alfgeir a respectful reprieve for his part but at last no one could take Wolfram away anymore or ever again. Yuuri had never considered himself the possessive sort--but then again he'd never thought himself the jealous type either. He'd always been very good at sharing things he wanted. When it came to love it was much more than a want; Wolfram was a need. He needed him to be in his life much more than he wanted to be married at his age. Just another concession to the cogs turning and slowly winding up the gears that powered the events in his life. If he was old enough to bear the responsibilities and hardships of being king to a large kingdom, he was certainly old enough to chose who he wanted at his side to help him keep his balance among sycophants and critics.

He'd thought Murata would be his largest critic when word had gotten out but his friend had hardly even seemed surprised. Gunter feinted, Gwendal fumed, Conrad had been quiet. Celi had credited herself with having arranged the magic night in question and began her own preparations for the Shin Makoku ceremony. She had been a surprise accomplice in their little lie. Yuuri felt better and better about his choice as things continued to fall into place. It had only taken a day to prepare the ship for its voyage and after several more the shores of Trebic were now visible, a beachy path of forests and towns set to guide them to the capital city. Iorund was a nervous wreck by observation, constantly exchanging doves with the wind and pacing in his room at night. His footsteps and muttered tirades had kept Yuuri awake for an hour of curious eavesdropping through thin walls. Conrad worried they were walking into a very hostile homecoming. The only worries Yuuri bothered keeping were the ones that made Wolfram hold on to him so hard at night that it hurt. He still had not said what had made him change his mind and come running to him in the middle of the night. A bad dream, Yuuri surmised. The longer Wolfram's melancholy clung to him, though, the more Yuuri wondered. They were married in one country and effectively engaged in their own. He'd have thought whatever it was would have passed by now under present conditions.

Wolfram nuzzled his cheek against the pillow, eyebrows pinching his face into a pout as he closed his mouth and turned restlessly. Yuuri stopped petting him long enough to let him settle again then returned to his gentle stroking of his hair. He smiled when green eyes peeked open at him, having secretly hoped to have woken him eventually even though he knew the sleeping helped.

"You're going to make my hair all greasy," Wolfram warned, closing his eyes again.

Yuuri shrugged his shoulders. "Probably."

The prince consort sighed and turned over on his back, resigned to consciousness again as he felt out Yuuri's hand. He held it, stroking his knuckles with his thumb as Yuuri continued to sit at his side. Yuuri enjoyed the simple moments. Sometimes words ruined the feelings in the air and so long as it wasn't an angry silence, Yuuri was in no hurry to fill it. He gave Wolfram's hand a squeeze, smiling at him. Wolfram's return smile was hesitant but genuine as he squeezed his hand back harder.

"Yuuri?"

"Yeah?"

"No matter what we're both going home, right?"

Yuuri rolled his eyes, tugging on his arm. "Wolfram, I should hope I've established by now that I'm not letting you go."

"What if you have to?"

"I'm still not."

"What if it's not something you can control?"

"Doesn't matter. You're coming with me."

"What if I have to go somewhere you can't follow?"

"Well, I'll be very, very confused how you managed that since I'll be holding on to you like this every step of the way." Yuuri squeezed his hand again, sorely tempted to lay back down on the bed beside him. It was past noon, though, with several hours more till they arrived. He didn't need to greet the already likely irritable nobles with bed head and a a rumpled shirt.

Wolfram continued to stroke his knuckles, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he laid there with his eyes closed. The sunlight pooled in through the small port-side windows but was too short to reach his face, only close enough to make the dust light up and dance in the air over beams of white gold on the deep wooden backdrop of hull and floorboards. His peaceful expression only held for a moment, though, again slipping away to worry.

"Yuuri, would you want to know how long you'll live?"

It was an odd question and one that took Yuuri quite by surprise. He quirked his brow. "Um... I don't know. Why are you asking me that?"

"Just answer."

He sighed, scratching at his head with his free hand. "You mean do I want to know when I'll die?" he asked.

Wolfram shook his head. "No. Just how long you'll live. If someone said you'd only live to be a maximum of thirty years old, would you want to know?"

Yuuri leaned back against Wolfram's legs, trying to seriously ponder the strange question if only because of his insistence. It seemed a very odd way to phrase a pretty standard if not slightly macabre inquisition. He'd always heard it the other way, with the focus on when death would come. Wasn't it pretty much the same thing? He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he pondered. _Could_ live to be thirty and _would_ live to be thirty were actually very different the more he considered it. Of all the weird things kids ask themselves in their idle time at school, he was surprise this one had never come up.

"So I could live less but not more?" He clarified. Wolfram nodded and Yuuri leaned back into his knees more. "I really don't know. If my life was going to be that short, I think I'd be better off not knowing. It'd kind of be the same as knowing when I was going to die but without the benefit of knowing everything before that would be things I could survive."

Wolfram nodded again, angling his legs to better serve as Yuuri's backrest. "What if it was someone close to you. Would you want to know how long they'd live?"

"Yeah. I would." Of that he didn't even have to think. Yuuri tried not to have his thoughts dwell much on death at any given time but he imagined everyone had had someone close to them become hurt or sick and had felt those regrets if only for a moment. It wasn't a pleasant feeling; not worse than the loss but harder to reconcile. "I mean, I have a lot of friends and my family is kind of really far away so knowing I only have a certain amount of time left to spend with someone I care about would be very important to me. I guess, if you're dying, you don't have to worry about making precious memories because once you're gone, so are they. But memories are all that's left for everyone else so making sure there are plenty of good ones to remember them by is very necessary."

"You're wrong," Wolfram said. "Dying people worry about precious memories too. They don't want to be forgotten."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right."

There was something in the way he said it that made Yuuri's chest feel tight. The melancholy, the outburst and crying, the strange, random questions about death. It filled his mind with the color green, a lingering doubt as to the long term effects of the houseki or a terrible side effect of the means by which they had to remove it. Gisela had said he was fine but maybe something had changed. Maybe she hadn't noticed something before or maybe it was something else that they'd only just realized. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat not budging as the pain in his chest grew. Maybe he really didn't want to know. Maybe it was better not to know....

In the end, though, he'd never want to leave anyone to deal with that alone. Least of all a friend. Especially not Wolfram. He squeezed his hand, unable to look at him but finding his voice to be clear though hesitant. "... Wolfram, are you dying?"

"No," he answered plainly.

There was no finer relief. Yuuri leaned his head back, feeling the tightness release and his heartbeat and breathing return to normal. He almost wanted to hit Wolfram for making him worry like that but he supposed it was more his own fault. "Oh, thank god. You really scared me, Wolfram, with all these morbid questions."

"I'm only going to live to be about a hundred and fifty," Wolfram continued.

Yuuri smiled at him. "That old, huh?"

"Old? Yuuri, my mother is two-hundred and forty."

"She's going to kill you for-" Yuuri stopped mid sentence as his brain sent up a warning signal, red, bright and loud. Celi was of a reasonable adult appearance but certainly not old at well over two-hundred. Yuuri hadn't ever bothered to ask how long mazoku lived, knew only Wolfram's age now that he thought of it. Eighty seemed very young when put into the context of his lover. A hundred and fifty seemed very short in comparison. He turned his face, looking at him though Wolfram's gaze was averted to the porthole. "Wolfram, why aren't you going to live that long too?"

"Even if you are half human, it's your maryoku which matters. Strong maryoku like yours, you can live to be six-hundred I bet. I bet they let you stay king the whole time too."

"Wolfram." Yuuri didn't like his avoidance or the way he rattled on like he hadn't heard him. This was serious. He let go of his hand and turned his face by his chin, forcing him to look at him. His green eyes were not defiant or fiery as he generally saw them. He simply looked tired, worn down. He pushed Yuuri's hand from his face, sitting up. The pink lace nightgown Yuuri had bought for him clung to his frame with the sheets pooling in his lap. Wolfram rubbed his face, cradling it in his hands for a moment before letting his hands fall to his bent knees.

He still would not look at Yuuri but at last he did speak. "I died, Yuuri. Shinou gave me the rest of Alfie's life in order to bring me back. So that's all the time I have. I have what he would have had."

Yuuri didn't know what to say. The consequences of Wolfram's death, the fact that he had even died, were things he hadn't given much or any thought to. Other than the acknowledgment of his cool sounding nickname, Yuuri had considered tales of his death to be mostly fantastic. He felt like an idiot for never asking. There had been so many other things that had seemed so much more important. "How long have you known?"

"A few days. Murata told me. That night."

Yuuri cursed his stupidity and blindness. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I still don't believe it. And I don't want to believe it. But I can't ignore it either. Not if I want to put everything I wanted to do into just seventy more years."

"I won't let it be like that. We'll find a way to-"

"I don't want to hear that, Yuuri!" Wolfram's anger was quick to light but slow burning. He gave Yuuri a steely glare, temples pulsing as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He was angry but not at Yuuri, and the king at least had the presence of mind to know that. Wolfram clarified none the less. "I know you mean well but It's not comforting. I'd be living like Morgif only instead of souls I'd be stealing years of other people's lives to prolong my own. I'd be a monster." He shook his head hard, obviously having given the matter a great deal of thought over the past few days. His breath trembled but his voice maintained the strength of conviction. "I'm lucky, Yuuri. I really am. I'd rather live a short life than a long one built on death and decay. That is not going to be my legacy."

Yuuri loved him; love his maturity and selflessness, two things he'd never thought he'd ever attribute to the young man. He loved his strength and his frailty, even if he was still hesitant to let him see the latter if he could help it. He loved his stubborn pride and insecurities. He loved that he was going to be with him for many years to come. He wasn't sure what he thought about the rest but of all the things he was sure of, he knew it was going to be okay.

"So this is my warning?"

Wolfram nodded. "Yeah. It's your warning."

"You know... most humans don't get to spend that long together. So.. I think in that way, I'll be lucky too."

Wolfram smiled just slightly as he leaned forward, laying his head against his knees and Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri leaned his cheek against his hair. He probably should have cried, he thought. He probably should have been more upset. Seventy years still seemed like a long time to Yuuri and he wagered it would still seem that way until seventy years was almost up. He was alright waiting that long for it to hit him. They still had a human lifetime to enjoy together.

"Yuuri?"

"Yeah?"

"If you thought I moved too fast before, I'm going to give you whiplash now."

Yuuri chuckled though it was a nervous sound. "Just remember, they're supposed to be _precious_ memories. _Precious_."

"Precious like the nightgown you gave me?" Wolfram asked, shifting the sheets a little to show the generous portion of upper thigh and--if he wasn't mistaken--ass on display under the short lace hem.

Yuuri swallowed. "... Well, a couple naughty ones might be okay."

"Way more than a couple." Wolfram wrapped his arms around him and pulled him down despite the king's useless flailing. Yuuri landed across him as they turned and shifted, mostly by Wolfram's positioning as Yuuri continued to try and escape.

"Wolfram, we have to meet with the Trebic court in a few hours."

"It's not going to take that long."

"What's not?"

"Just trust me."

Yuuri did but it was not exactly a comforting answer. Wolfram had him on his back again, straddling his hips with his thighs parted wide. Even if he was more or less allowed or even encouraged to look, Yuuri still felt like a dirty old man for taking advantage of an up-skirt opportunity. The nightgown had come with matching panties. He was more mortified than ever now at having been seen by the sales lady checking the outfit out. Pink lace panties without enough coverage to even pretend to be decent. He was never going to show his face on earth again.

Wolfram sat up straight, fingers spread over Yuuri's clothed stomach as he moved his hips in sweeps and circles, gyrating very intently over the king's groin. Yuuri's eyes went wide as his imagination gave unnecessary help to Wolfram's movements. Without the clothes, with a little preparation, those same movements, that same spot... his body was fired up and far more eager than Yuuri would have liked. He would have preferred to have at least been able to pretend these weren't the first times he'd been excited like this with another person. It would have been nice to have come across cool and mature and not like the horniest closet-case to ever to have crossed dimensions. It pleased Wolfram to feel him hard beneath him, though. He could tell. Wolfram was just as bad at hiding when he was pleased with himself as Yuuri was at pretending he wasn't completely out of his depth.

"N-not with clothes, remember!"

"You're not close already, are you?"

Yuuri bit his lip, hands holding on tight to Wolfram's hips. "I can't help it if you're going to be like this." He couldn't keep himself still. His body ground back in response, finding a pace once erratic movements proved less effective.

There was a knock at the door. Yuuri, out of panic and instinct, grabbed Wolfram and threw him off him, rolling on top of him with the blanket to try and hide him. Wolfram made a startled yelp.

"Yuuri, what-!"

"Someone's at the door," Yuuri whispered.

Wolfram grabbed the blanket and fought with him to pull it away. "Yes. And they already know we're in here. Both of us!"

Of course they did. Yuuri chastised himself and let Wolfram get the blanket off his face, blonde hair a mess and green eyes fierce as he emerged with the tingle of static. "What exactly was that about?" the prince consort demanded, looking rumpled and ravaged and exactly what Yuuri had thought he was avoiding by hiding him.

He smiled sheepishly, trying to diffuse his anger. "I just don't want anyone to get the wrong idea.. er.. the right idea... I mean Conrad."

Wolfram rolled his eyes, throwing the blanket back at Yuuri. "Conrad's not going to do or say anything. Not to you, anyway."

The knock repeated. "Your Majesty?" It was indeed Conrad. The door unlatched as he opened it slowly, pausing to make sure there was plenty of time for either of them to let him know the moment was not right. That in itself was just about too much. Yuuri put his face in his hands. His godfather thought he was doing naughty things to the younger brother. Whether he approved of not, it was still more than Yuuri really wanted anyone to know. No warning called at his disturbance, Conrad came into the room and closed the door behind him. "Yuuri, we're within sight of the castle. Lord Sturla says the nobles are already convening for an emergency meeting and we will be lead to the conference room upon arrival."

"Right... good... okay. We'll-uh... We'll be ready." He wished he didn't sound guilty. Wolfram fixing his hair and adjusting his nightgown from being pushed off so suddenly just made it worse.

Conrad nodded, either not noticing or not all that bothered. "Shall we go over our escape tactics should things become aggressive?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Actually, Conrad," Wolfram said, sweeping the last bang into place. "I need a few more minutes alone with Yuuri. Can you wait outside?"

Conrad gave his brother a look Yuuri hadn't seen on his face before. He was beginning to see what Wolfram meant by Yuuri not being the one the soldier would want to have a serious talk with about their relationship. "Can it wait, Wolfram?"

"No. It can't."

Conrad looked at Yuuri who had no desire to be caught between the two. "Yuuri?"

Wolfram pinched his thigh hard. "Ah!.. Uh... five minutes?"

The soldier sighed slightly, shoulders slumped in defeat. "Alright. I'll be back shortly." He gave his brother one last look as he reopened the door and made his way back into the lower decks of the boat.

Yuuri turned to Wolfram, rubbing his thigh. "What was that about?"

"Don't tell him."

Yuuri hesitated a moment, confused. "About what you told me? Why don't you want Conrad to know?"

"I don't want anyone to know." Wolfram was back to being serious again, the playful spark extinguished after its brief return. "I don't want to have to deal with them. It's enough to deal with as it is. It's not like they can help, so... Really, it's just better if it stays between you, Murata, and me."

Yuuri nodded, though keeping a secret from Conrad was not going to be easy. "If you don't act like things are okay once everything is all better, they're going to think something's up."

"No they won't. They'll just think I'm still messed up over everything that's happened."

He was probably right.

Wolfram crawled out of the bed, tossing his nightgown off and into his hardwood chest with gold finishings where his uniform was waiting to be dawned once more. Yuuri hoped to never see him in scarlet again once this was over.

"Regardless, I don't plan on moping around, Yuuri. Don't worry. I just need a few long days of just... feeling it. Then it's time to move on; worry about it later."

"Is that really alright?"

Wolfram looked up from tying on the black ties on his underwear. He smiled just a little though his eyes remained soft. "I have you now. That makes everything alright."

Yuuri got off the bed and gave him a kiss, hands resting on the bare skin of his shoulders. "I won't tell anyone," he promised.

Wolfram gave him a brief hug then went back to pulling out pieces of his formal attire from the chest. "Hurry up and see Conrad before he decides he has to rescue you from my lecherous clutches."

"You mean he doesn't?" Yuuri asked jokingly.

"With less than five minutes? That may be enough time for you but not for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Wolfram shrugged innocently as he stepped into his trousers.

As the king left him to it, he was relatively assured he would be wearing his embarrassment for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more chapters left and then that wraps up this tale. I'll start working on a short, optional sequel afterwards that--due to rather overwhelming requests--will be an mpreg. Never written one before and I don't do "butt babies" so it'll be an interesting challenge which is pretty much why I'm doing it. I may not post it here, though.


	28. Chapter 28

Of all the things that filled Wolfram with dread on their arrival in Trebic, Bersi was not among them. Seeing the older man waiting at the docks to greet the Shin Makoku ship made his burden feel much lighter and his mood shift just slightly up from foreboding anxiety to something a bit more hopeful. As much as he trusted Yuuri, Wolfram had dealt with the nobles before. Not all of them were as progressive as their king had been. Many still held tight to their prejudice against mazoku. Most loved their traditions and did not welcome change.

On the wood slat docks, Bersi's tired eyes squinted into a smile as he clasped Wolfram's shoulders. "You left here my betrothed and returned as another man's bride. Now I know how Yuuri felt," the loud man joked, winking at the mazoku king as he moved on to clasping his hands in greeting. "Congratulations. I hope you're prepared, though. We're to assemble immediately. There isn't much time to discuss our plan but in the ride there."

"My plan is your plan," Yuuri told him.

Bersi smiled still. "Then we can enjoy the ride to the castle with far less debate."

Down the ramp Iorund came, pulling his sash straight as it caught in the braid of his beard. He did not look happy to see Bersi. He stopped a few feet away as Sir Veleif finished his greeting to Conrad as well. The noble shook his head, disapproval evident but hard to pinpoint.

"You should never have sent him away, Veleif."

Bersi's smile changed from cordial to snide as he leaned back on his heals, eyeing the well dressed man. "And whose job was it to keep an eye on him, Sturla? I'm sure the others are very pleased with your performance."

The noble's cheeks and nose burned red as he turned away and walked to his awaiting carriage. "Nothing which has happened cannot be undone," He called back. "I will see you there." The carriage sagged slightly under his weight then took off at great speed towards the central road to the castle.

"An odd choice for Wolfram's retainer."

Bersi chuckled, slapping Conrad on the back. Wolfram was a little pleased to see even Conrad stumble forward slightly at the force of it. "Well, I didn't chose him for his manners. Never liked the man myself but he's well suited as a noble head. He loves his country and has no aspirations to attain higher position. He is also one of several nobles who met to accept the general's claim to the throne."

Wolfram bit the inside of his mouth to maintain a straight face, feeling Conrad and Yuuri's eyes suddenly on him with uncomfortably intensity. Conrad's hands made fists, one raising to rest comfortably on the cool hilt of his sword. "I hadn't know that was his relation to things."

"Because it's not important," Wolfram reminded him, casting Yuuri a warning look while he was at it. He hated those large, black, puppy-dog eyes almost as much as he loved them. He needed Yuuri to be confident, strong and fierce on this day, though. Standing on the dock looking pitiful was not helping to build on that. He grabbed Yuuri by the shirt front and pulled him towards their own carriage. "Don't be a wimp in public; they'll eat you alive in that council room if you look this weak."

Yuuri stumbled to follow. "Geya~h, Wolfram! I can find the carriage without the help!"

The squawking and awkwardness didn't make Wolfram feel any more confident about presenting the juvenile king to the nobles.

On approach the footman bowed and held open the door to the covered four seater, pristine white with details of swirling waves in gold on all sides. The scarlet interior was plush, the drapes over the windows making it a dark, warm place. Wolfram let Yuuri walk inside on his own, following him and sitting to his side as they waited for the other two to join them.

Yuuri put his hand on his thigh, leaning close to whisper. "I'm sorry. I thought you were just being a brat to that guy because he had to follow you around."

Wolfram scowled, sitting with his arms crossed. "I was."

The carriage pulled away towards the castle with Conrad and Bersi seated together opposite them, a short ride made even shorter by the haste of the driver. There were a few cheers from the people on the street as the familiar carriage went past. Yuuri continued to pull the drape back to look out the window, mostly failing at being inconspicuous.

"Do they know?"

Bersi shook his head, his mustache ruffling over his lip. "They know Wolfram has returned but news of your marriage has been kept a secret within the inner sanctum since Lord Sturla sent word of it. I can guarantee you they will be pressing you to retract your intentions and annul the marriage."

"They can try." Yuuri pulled the curtain back again, blinking with his usual naivety at the faces on the streets. "As long as Wolfram returns home with me, I don't really care what we have to do or say but right now, I think the only thing that's going to assure that is this marriage."

"You'll hear no argument from me. I do have one favor to ask, however."

Wolfram eyed his commander, wary of any changes with so little time left.

Yuuri was immune to worry, though, it seemed, and nodded eagerly, "Anything. I'm indebted to you for all your help."

With his hands clasped and his head bowed just slightly, Bersi took a deep breath before making his request: "Please let this be Trebic's decision."

Wolfram blinked, his apprehensions fulfilled. "How exactly is he supposed to do that?"

"I understand it is much easier to simply walk in there, tell them you're king and that things are going to change, then leave me in charge and return home. However, doing so leaves our government in a rather hostile position. Even if my supporters do believe that nominating our rulers is the way forward from here, they will not be as willing to proceed if it is mandated by a foreigner."

Yuuri sighed, letting his head roll back against the cushioned backrest. "So it's a matter of pride, I guess. That's fine. We'll figure it out as we go."

"Yuuri," Wolfram said with warning.

"You're either very confident or the voyage has left you worn down." Bersi scratched at his beard, still smiling though his faith in the matter seemed to wane. "Either way, it's the lion's den we enter now. You have my full support."

Yuuri smiled at his friend, the carriage coming to a halt. The lions den indeed, Wolfram thought.

They followed guardsmen inside quietly and quickly to the grand chamber where the council of nobles met. Wolfram knew the room well. Before Alfgeir's death he'd only one occasion on which to enter: the announcement of their marriage. Many of the older men had not been pleased with their maritime ceremony; faces grim as they passed on words of congratulations. The same old men had offered true enough condolences in the days and weeks after the deaths as they explained why Wolfram inherited nothing but the powers they could not strip him of. It was as hard to forgive them as it was to truly blame them. Wolfram knew first hand how hard letting go of prejudice was. It was easy to think of all humans as being hateful and selfish when faced with the judgmental looks of the noble council. Remembering Alfgeir made it much easier. Not all humans were blind fools; just the gathering of men he was to be faced with once again for another roaring argument.

It was a large room with tall windows facing out towards the sea and a perfect view of their ship anchored there. In the middle of the room was a large, round table perfect for shouting and tossing tankards of ale across. The old wood was stained with liquor and blood, knotted in age and nicked along the edges from less civilized discussions involving blades and axes. In the chairs around it sat eight men, Lord Strula among them and one of the youngest of their brood. There was one chair left vacant, a seat not reserved for a king but for a partner in their discussion. Keeping his head held high and posture as erect and proud as possible, Wolfram walked past the scorn filled faces towards the raised platform which faced the table and upon which sat two paired thrones. Wolfram sat in the lesser of the two; his rightful place. Bersi gestured towards the open chair to Yuuri while Conrad took his guard at the door.

Yuuri looked confused as he eyed the table's arrangement. "So wait, where's your seat, Bersi?"

"Commander Veleif is not a noble," one of the men waiting replied, his eyes sagging under the weight of their wrinkles.

Bersi pulled out the chair for Yuuri to sit, his view thankfully including that of the thrones. "I was appointed by Wolfram as head of our militant forces after the siege. As he says, it's _Commander_ Veleif now. I'm here only as Wolfram's adviser in the absence of a human king and in the interests of national security."

Yuuri looked up at the thrones, Wolfram praying he wouldn't do or say something weak so early in their meeting. Yuuri smiled just slightly, though, nodding towards the empty seat to Wolfram's right. "I take it there's a good explanation for why that's not my seat instead?"

A general murmur of discontent circled the table. Wolfram returned his smile. It wasn't perhaps the greatest strategy but it certainly put the nobles in their place.

"That," an older gentleman with mostly white hair, Lord Ulfeid, said, "is the very matter we are all here to speak on. Please be seated, You Majesty, so that we may begin."

Yuuri nodded and took his seat, looking very small and frail amongst the larger men who had as many pounds as they did years on him and then some. His black hair was nothing like their various shades of red, from golden strawberry to blood. He was every bit as foreign as he looked. In a battle fought with words, he was very nearly as alone as he looked as well.

Yuuri cleared his throat, face already betraying the slight nervousness that kept his hands tucked out of sight. "I guess... to start with, I should be very clear on one thing: I don't _want_ to be your king. I have my own country to rule and there is no way I could spend my time equally between the two and no reason I can see for Trebic to not be ruled by its own people in its own way."

"Well, then, that makes things much simpler if we're all agreed on that issue," Lord Asdis said, leaning back in his chair with his fingers woven over his large belly. "Retract your intentions and we can cut out early."

Yuuri shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to do that. It's unfortunate that something very personal has very important political ties to you. There are a lot of things I will compromise with you on but my relationship to Wolfram is not one of them."

The murmur rose again as the noble men leaned over armrests to mutter amongst themselves. Bolstered by their validated indignation, murmurs became outbursts leveled at Yuuri from all sections of the table.

"I find your blatant disregard for our traditions to be insulting."

"Is this how the mazoku treat their allied nations?"

"And just what do you expect us to do now?"

"What gives you the right to claim your selfishness as more important than our nation's needs?"

Yuuri, to his credit, did not shrink away from their shouts. He sat perfectly still, listening to each cry with a respectfully passive expression. He did not move to interrupt or interject, allowing each man to say his piece as he waited for a moment of silence through which to speak again. The nervousness was gone. Yuuri was the rare sort of man who flourished best in adversity. Though the situations were rarely those in which Wolfram delighted to find themselves, he did enjoy seeing Yuuri in his element. It was in those times that he became confident and self assured, strong in every meaning of the word with a spine of forged steel. He loved his wimp, but he loved watching him prove him wrong in that sentiment all the more.

When the echo of the last man's angry call rung its last through the high ceilings, Yuuri leaned forward, hands no longer hidden and instead spread out in front of him. "I understand that this is troublesome. It's not my intention to make a mockery of your traditions or exploit loop holes for my own gain. I'm here with nothing more than a small, simple request: please let me be with the person I love. I don't ask that as a king but as a man, as just plain Yuuri Shibuya. I would pay you any sum for his freedom but I'm afraid as Yuuri I don't have a single piece of gold to my name. I don't come from a noble family. I wasn't raised as you all were with a background in politics and court protocol. Where I come from you grow up, choose the kind of job you want, work hard, fall in love, and get married. I guess I'm still pretty naive but I think everyone is entitled to that no matter who they are."

"That is naive, yes. There are always sacrifices to be made by any and all born into privilege." Lord Asgaut leaned forward as well, laying his tankard back on the table with a slosh. He was one of Wolfram's least disliked of the nobles. "Now, no one is saying you can't love His Majesty. It is practicing that love that is the issue. If you revoke your intentions, there is no reason why you can't continue this... affair discretely."

Yuuri shook his head. "There is every reason why I can't and won't. I don't desire to be your king but if I have to be in order to make sure we're all being fair about this then I will be."

"Fair? What is fair about further disrupting our entire nation's attempts to recover from our ordeal with even more set backs? First Zorashia and now this?" Lord Sturla asked.

Lord Leiknir continued. "Your Majesty, we've been very patient but it's high time we crown a true king for Trebic. We've agreed that Commander Veleif will be most suitable."

"For a king, yes, but _I_ am the prince consort's husband and there will be no other marriage."

Lord Gerimund pushed his chair back, standing with his fist pointed to the throne. "Wolfram, this is treason!"

The room grew silent. Wolfram cast a discriminating glance across the room, searching the familiar faces for signs of resentment. It was there, clear and obvious in their fearful gazes as they let the words hang without challenge. So this was their trump card, their only resort left to combat an unwanted king. Wolfram was not about to sit for any court on charges of treason. He stilled his anger, swallowed his pride. As much as he wanted to point his own fingers at the crowd, it was not the time nor place nor would it probably every be. "I have betrayed no king or country. I'm doing exactly as Alfie would have wanted me to," he said. The rumble of dissonance continued.

"His royal highness would have wanted his kingdom to persevere!"

"And it will," Wolfram assured them.

"At what cost?" Lord Herjolf demanded. "Our traditions, our values, our very way of life?"

Wolfram opened his mouth to continue the debate but stopped as Bersi's hand fell to his shoulder.

"Well, I can tell you one thing Alfgeir would have done differently were he here," The commander said, walking down past the thrones to the table's side. "He'd have treated Wolfram like a person and not an object for starters. This is a shameful way to treat a hero of our country and I'm embarrassed that we have done so and in the presence of our closest ally no less. I say if we're going to continue to treat him as something that can simply be shared out or purchased, we call him a gift and give him back to the people who gave him to us."

Lord Leiknir glared though many others sat quietly in their shame. "Watch your tongue, Bersi," the lord warned.

"You take offense to that, eh? And how offended were you when you accepted that blasted general as our king? You would rather a king slayer and rapist take the throne than accept the wishes of two people in love who would prefer to leave the ruling powers with us."

Several more faces looked away, unable to meet Bersi, Wolfram or even Yuuri's eyes as they became fixed on the tabletop and the tankards of lager before them.

Bersi shook his head, fists planted on his hips as he scanned those who still mustered up the pride to challenge him. He looked livid. "Must I remind you again that it was _humans_ that got us where we are now and mazoku who helped us stay alive to be here? Your continued insistence that anything King Yuuri can contribute is wholly against our ways and nature is utterly ridiculous and as out dated as many of these so called traditions. I say abolish the notion of a royal family; make the throne an elected seat to be occupied by worthy individuals nominated by this council. You dislike King Yuuri then enjoy the power to oust him before he ever comes close to being your true king. Never again can a foreign conqueror become our legal representative by our own tired traditions. Let the people continue to enjoy them but let the crown rest only on the heads of those we deem worthy."

The rumble of feet stomping under the table made its rounds in place of the familiar murmur. Wolfram listened, somewhat amazed, as it seemed most of the old men seated pounded their soles to the stone. They agreed with Bersi. Whether fueled by guilt or the fear of being ruled by Shin Maoku's king, the old men were receptive and willing to change.

Most but not all. Lord Strula put his palms down on the table, standing up for a moment as though he knew he was now among the minority and tasked to convince far more than just Bersi and the foreigners. "You wish for us to be more like our allies. It's the same as being conquered by the mazoku to adopt their own political structure."

Bersi scoffed, mustache twitching. "The world is changing and we must all change with it. Look what a stubborn, prejudice blood line has done to Big Cimarron. They are now so paranoid they cannot remember what it was they were fighting in the first place. They chase ghosts and ideology with canons and swords, cutting through their own intentions in an attempt to swat the phantasms they create. And her people can do nothing but bow and obey because they must. Even if it is akin to Shin Makoku's political structure, it is us who govern it and allied though we may be, Yuuri, what we do in our own borders is our own business."

Yuuri sat up straighter as he was once again called into the conversation. He looked confused for only a moment before his brow set into a hard, stubborn line and he gave the commander a curt nod. "I understand," he said.

The few remaining men who held contention exchanged glances over the table.

Bersi circled them with a long, even stride. He challenged every man's stare with his own, his voice a booming rattle as it bounced among the rafters. "Now, either we can vote and decide for ourselves that we wish to continue down this path, or we can hold to our traditions and bow to Yuuri as our king and accept whatever he decides. Though I consider King Yuuri a friend and ally, I would prefer our crown to stay within our borders. Let us not take what fate hands us and do this for ourselves."

Soles hit stone again, this time in greater numbers. The stampeding sound of footfalls rattled the furniture, tankards sloshing over with froth. A few men belted out a low, bass lines--none of them carrying the same note. The stomping grew faster as more voices joined in a chorus that was as much battle cry as it was song. Fists struck the table as did empty tankards to add to the cacophony the hollow thunk of an empty cup. It was loud and chaotic and Yuuri seemed completely lost in the middle of it as every man seated beside and before him carried on in the same manner. The sound became unanimous, Bersi lifting his arms into the air as he drummed his feet on the stone where he stood.

They'd done it.

Wolfram relaxed into his chair, one he knew now he would never be asked to sit upon again. Even confused as he was, Yuuri seemed to understand the noise was a good thing as he met Wolfram's slumped posture with his own goofy smile. He'd done it. Not alone, not without help, but still, somehow, his presence alone seemed to make miracles happen. Wolfram returned the smile as the noise settled and they returned to business. The meeting might have been far from over, but for Wolfram it did not matter anymore. He had the answers he wanted. The rest was inconsequential.

"Now then, for our first order of business: the honorable retirement of Prince Consort Wolfram von Bielefeld Havard."

\---

 

It was nearing nightfall when the carriage returned them to the docks. No amount of convincing could keep Wolfram or Yuuri from leaving immediately after the meeting. As much as the nobles would have preferred Wolfram to have attended the formal coronation of King Veleif, Bersi could not blame him his haste in leaving. He saw them to the docks himself, lending them what was now his carriage as they proceeded in their departure.

"I'm sorry I wasn't much help," Yuuri apologized, shaking the king's hand as they disembarked from the white and gold buggy.

Bersi chuckled, patting him hard on the shoulders. "You gave them something to fear that was greater than the fear of change itself. You were instrumental, Your Majesty. Just perhaps not in the way you had thought you would be."

Yuuri smiled, rubbing at his now sore shoulders as the new king turned to Wolfram with a sad and tired expression.

"I wish I could honestly tell you I am happy to see you go. I know it is for the best, though I still think you would have been very good for us here." Bersi clasped his shoulders much more gently than usual and leaned a kiss against his cheek, mustache whiskers tickling against his skin. Wolfram closed his eyes, not sure why he felt his chest tighten with the older gentleman's sentiment. Bersi gave him a soft squeeze. "You won't be forgetting us here, I hope."

"I'll never forget." Not the good, nor the horror. Wolfram didn't bother even trying to force a smile with his reply and to his credit Bersi seemed content without one. He nodded, hand caressing Wolfram's cheek for a moment, then offered his hand to Conrad for the last of his goodbyes.

Yuuri took Wolfram's hand, holding it tight. They waved as the carriage pulled away, their ship already stocked and ready just in case a more hasty escape had been required. They boarded her without delay, returning to the waves as though the day's ordeal had been a dream. It felt like a dream.

Leaning at the railings on the starboard side, Wolfram still could not believe it was really over. For all their planning and debates, surely there was more to come. He half expected a ship to meet them over the horizon, an envoy sent to charter him back on a recall. It was nothing but black water under an amethyst sky as the sun twinkled out at twilight. It was beautiful but not so much as to dismiss the foreboding feeling Wolfram could not shake.

Conrad leaned against the rails beside him, a sense of déjà vu adding a chill to the night air. He was quiet and contemplative, had been for days. He was biding his time, Wolfram knew, until there were less important things to discuss than his relationship with Yuuri. Yuuri was always his top concern; as he should be. Wolfram almost felt like asking him outright to just come out with it already. Waiting to be told off was almost worst than having to defend himself. He'd grown too accustomed to his brother's smiling face. His straight face had the tendency to make Wolfram feel almost guilty.

"Well, what is it?" he asked finally, unable to keep to the silence.

Conrad smiled faintly at last, his fingers raising to stroke back a piece of Wolfram's hair. "Just thinking."

"You look upset when you're thinking."

"I was thinking about you."

Wolfram stood perfect still to hide the wince, looking down at the obsidian waves. "And that makes you upset, does it?"

Conrad nodded, hand falling from his hair to his shoulder. "Only when I think about all the things I could have done to change the way things have gone."

"You think about foolish things." Wolfram shook his hand off, trying not to scowl.

His brother chuckled softly, no humor in the sound as his hands clasped the wooden rail. "I suppose so," he said, looking down as Wolfram tried to ignore him. "Do you blame me? Or Gwendal?"

"No." He didn't even need to give it a second though; they had all done exactly what their positions had designed them to do. If he started blaming them, he would have to blame himself as well. He would rather put all the blame and hate solely on Big Cimarron for what they had done to both his past and future. Wolfram didn't feel any need to explain, though. They were brothers. Once they reached Shin Makoku, things would be as they always had been, as though nothing had even happened. Many things were simply best left unspoken. Gwendal was a true master of that art. The older Wolfram became, the more he saw the brilliance of it. Still, he was not his oldest brother, and so he gave himself some concessions. "I love you," he said, "And Gwendal. Let's just keep going. There's no time to sit and think about the past."

Conrad was quiet for a long moment, the rustle of the wind whistling over their ears. He wrapped his arm around his little brother's shoulders, forgetting the previous shrug, and pulled him close to his side. Wolfram resisted only slightly, making sure to trip more than lean into his brother if only for his pride.

"Oh no, he's not getting sick again, is he?"

Wolfram turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Yuuri who frowned in worry, blanket in his arms.

"Do I look like I'm getting sick?" he asked.

Yuuri smiled slightly, throwing the blanket over his own shoulders as he walked over, draping the other end over Wolfram with Conrad's assistance. Wolfram pulled his end around, thankful as much for the warmth of Yuuri's own body as he was for the blanket. He stood close, pleased to feel Yuuri's arm slide around his back underneath their warm shield.

Conrad smiled at them both, giving them some room. "You know, you're not married anymore," he noted. "Haven't been since they deposed Wolfram."

"Well, we never were in Shin Makoku anyway. The engagement is still on, though," Yuuri said with a shrug. He smiled at Wolfram, nudging him with his hip. "How long do you want this engagement to be? I don't really know how long your weddings take to get started but I think back home it takes about a year."

Wolfram nodded, doing his best not to scowl. A year; a whole, wasted year.

Or perhaps not.

Wolfram let the blanket go and grabbed his brother's hand, gaining his immediate attention. "Conrart, will you be my witness and family representative again?"

The soldier stared at him for a moment in confusion, understanding finally hitting him with a frown. "Wolfram, there's no need to elope. Everyone at home is in support of your relationship."

"No one has to know but us. This is between me and Yuuri. We can already be married and still have a proper wedding for Mother and everyone else. Will you be our witness, Conrart?"

Yuuri cocked his head slightly as he looked at his fiance. "Wolfram, what are you talking about?"

"Marry me," Wolfram said, almost demanded. He stood closer, Yuuri's wide, surprised eyes the only thing in his vision. "I've spent long enough being engaged to you in the past. The ship's captain can marry us right here, right now. It'll be our secret. I can wait a year for the big, fancy ceremony but I can't wait that long to know without a doubt that you and I are legally bound."

Yuuri stammered slightly, his flushed cheeks made rosy by more than just the wind. "I... I mean, yeah, I'll marry you, but... are you sure? What about-"

Wolfram kissed him, hands on his face, holding him still as he pressed close to him, lips making demands with much the same insistence as his words. Yuuri folded to him with the same ease, returning his kiss with nervous surrender.

Conrad cleared his throat. "If it's for your peace of mind... It would be an honor to serve as your witness again. Though I do wish you would reconsider."

"Well, we pretended to be married when we really weren't. I guess it makes just as much sense to get married and pretend we haven't," Yuuri said, readjusting the blanket over Wolfram's shoulders. "I feel the same. I don't want to lose you to another man; by choice or by circumstance. Let's get rid of that option."

" _You're_ the cheater."

" _I'm_ not the one who broke off the engagement in the first place."

"You wanted to."

Yuuri kissed him softly. "Not anymore."

They gathered the captain in his quarters, a quiet aside where even the crew would not hear. Under the light of the moon which presided over their vows through the large windows of the aft, Yuuri took Wolfram's hand as Wolfram took his. There was nothing to exchange but promises, nothing on the line save for the honesty of their hearts. This the moon saw and this the moon approved.

The ship sailed on towards the home shores of Shin Makoku the same as if nothing had happened. In the scheme of things, it didn't matter in the least. The sun would rise and the gulls would fly whether or not two lives were joined. For those two lives, however, there was no world outside themselves for a moment, and for a moment nothing mattered but themselves. Whether for seventy years or a thousand, even if there was no one else to observe, there would always be a moment in time waiting to be remembered that belonged to them alone.

The waves rolled and the wind whispered and the ship sailed on. Everything and nothing changed. And the ship sailed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied; this is the final chapter. There may be a quick, smutty one-shot to follow but it may not come out before the sequel begins. We'll see.
> 
> Hope the ending wasn't a disappointment.  
> ~Niko


End file.
